


Mine is the Fury

by RoseMarieGrace



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, F/M, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Politics, Romance, Trueborn princess, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 52
Words: 257,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26987188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseMarieGrace/pseuds/RoseMarieGrace
Summary: Selene Baratheon, the only trueborn child of King Robert Baratheon, is an unconventional, sword-swinging beauty caught up in the game of thrones. Now she must risk everything for honor, duty, and love. OC/Robb S. eventual OC/Jon S.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Original Female Character(s), Robb Stark/Original Character(s)
Comments: 110
Kudos: 174





	1. Winter is Coming

**Author's Note:**

> Hello AO3! Welcome to my story, which is basically what could have happened if King Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister managed to have one trueborn child. Originally posted on FF.net, I wanted to share it with the AO3 community, and will post a chapter every other day until we catch up to FF. 
> 
> Enjoy this chapter, and leave a comment if you can!

This was the single longest journey Selene had ever endured.

"How much _longer_?" She heard her insufferable younger brother Joffrey complain loudly a few horses ahead of her. He thought because he rode ahead, he was cementing his place as a crown prince. However, it was Selene who rode at the king's right side, the true place of honor.

The king was a man of few words while sober. He was contemplative for most of the ride, when he wasn't enjoying his whores in the privacy of his tent. Selene used to be embarrassed by her father's behavior, but growing up and seeing what kind of wife her mother was, she understood her father's aversion.

Queen Cersei was riding in the palanquin with Myrcella and Tommen. She hadn't said a word to anyone but her golden children and Uncle Jaime. Selene, as usual, was ignored by her mother.

Sometimes she doubted Cersei was her mother at all, though Tyrion assured her that she was. While Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen bore the Lannister gold hair and green eyes, Selene took after her father is every possible way. She had the Baratheon black hair and blue eyes. She even had her father's skill with weaponry and quick temper. _Ours is the fury_ , and the fury was quick to rise. Tyrion swore that Selene looked like a counterpart to a younger Cersei, silver coloring to Cersei's gold.

There was also another reason that led her to believe she must be a Lannister, and it was walking by her horse's side. The large lioness, named Eleni after one of the most legendary figures in Baratheon family history, had been her loyal companion ever since she found her injured in the Kingswood as a girl.

She was roused from her thoughts by her father.

"Do you know why we're going to Winterfell?"

"You want to ask Lord Eddard Stark to be you new Hand," Selene answered surely.

"That's the main reason, yes." Her father admitted, "But I do have another one."

Her curiosity was burning inside her, but she remained silent.

"You are of marrying age." King Robert said to his eldest child.

Selene felt her stomach drop, but stayed quiet.

"The Starks are a noble family," her father continued. "The North is the largest of the seven kingdoms. And his eldest son and heir is of the same age."

Selene held her tongue, which was her mistake.

"Do you not have anything to say to me?" The king asked, his voiced laced with annoyance.

Selene wasn't sure how to feel. She knew this day would come. As a princess, she always understood that her duty to her father and her kingdom was to marry a lord and bear his sons. She just didn't realize how much her father had planned.

"If this is your will, then of course I am delighted, Father," Selene said.

King Robert sighed. His daughter the princess, as dutiful as ever.

"I do not want you to say what you think I wish to hear. You are my firstborn, my favorite, my brave doe…I want you to be happy."

Selene felt a little lump of emotion in her throat.

"I have done my best to find you a good man," her father said earnestly. "If this boy is anything like his father, you will find yourself a loyal and kind husband."

Selene smiled. She hadn't realized how seriously her father took this.

"Then I am glad, Father, that you show me this amount of consideration. I look forward to meeting the boy."

King Robert smiled the type of smile he reserved for his favorite child, "Good. We should be setting eyes on Winterfell soon."

Winterfell held a new meaning to her now. This was going to be her home. She was going to be its lady, and the lady for the entire north. Such a large kingdom, almost as large as the entire south, and one day she would rule it.


	2. A First Glance

Their large procession entered the gates of Winterfell, the people of Wintertown standing on top of carts and things to catch a glimpse of the royal family.

The royal wagon blocked Selene's view of the arrival party, but she could see Winterfell was more a fortress then a palace. According to her books, it had been ruled by the Starks for thousands of years. And she would one day be one of them.

The wagon pulled off to the side, allowing Selene to view the dozens of people lined up in the inner courtyard. While her father stopped his horse and dismounted, Selene reared up next to Joffrey and stayed atop her horse. She watched the crowd shift uncomfortably at the sight of Eleni.

Selene's eyes raked the crowd to find the boy who would become her husband. Her eyes locked with a pair behind the Starks, eyes like chips of ice. They belonged to a boy not a year older than her, with fair skin and a dark mop of hair. She wrenched her eyes away to watch her father the king.

The entire crowd went to their knees for King Robert. He strode toward Ned purposefully, and gestured for Lord Stark to stand.

"Your Grace," Stark said solemnly.

"You got fat," King Robert grunted.

Selene noticed the Stark family cast unsure looks amongst themselves. Selene fought a smile.

Lord Stark raised his eyes at King Robert's vast stomach. Her father erupted in laughter, and embraced his oldest friend.

"Cat," the King said affectionately while embracing Lady Stark.

"Your Grace," the lady was caught off guard by his display of affection. She smiled graciously as the king rustled the hair of the small boy beside her.

"Nine years…" the King sighed at Lord Stark. "Why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?"

"Guarding the north for you, Your Grace," Ned said proudly. "Winterfell is yours."

Queen Cersei Lannister stepped out of the wagon and approached the Starks.

"Where's the Imp?" Selene heard a young girl's voice asked pointedly. Her eyes fell to the Stark girls.

"Would you shut up?" The taller one insisted. Again, Selene found herself fighting a smirk.

"Who have we here?" The king walked to the young man at Lord Stark's right, a boy of about 15 years old. "You must be Robb," The King shook his hand firmly.

Her father nodded his approval and continued down the line, but Selene was transfixed on her future husband.

Robb Stark was...handsome. He had his mother's Tully features: auburn curls and blazing blue eyes that held her gaze. She gave him a ghost of a smile, which he returned. Could she love him? Selene hated to admit to herself that she was relieved to find him attractive. His eyes were kind, but she wondered if they would ever love each other, or if Robb suspected her father's plans.

"My…you're a pretty one" King Robert said to the older, taller girl, who also seemed to be more Tully than Stark with her waterfall of flaming hair.

"Your name is?" the king asked down to the younger girl.

"Arya."

King Robert nodded and moved to the next Stark child.

"Show us your muscles…" The young boy of about eight pulled back his cloak and flexed his arms.

King Robert chuckled, "You'll be a soldier."

"That's Jamie Lannister," Arya said to her sister, "The Queen's twin brother."

"Would you please shut up?"

Selene's mother sauntered up to Lord Stark and held out her hand, waiting.

Lord Stark took it, and kissed it with a bow, "My queen."

"My queen," Lady Stark repeated with a deep curtsey.

"Take me to your crypt," King Robert interrupted. "I want to pay my respects."

"We've been riding for a month, my love," the Queen said with a sincerity that Selene could tell was forced. "Surely the dead can wait."

The King ignored her, "Ned."

Lord Stark gave the queen a respectful bow, and then went to his king.

"Where's the Imp?" Arya asked again, this time overheard by the Queen.

Selene's mother turned and walked toward Jaime. "Where is our brother? Go find the little beast."


	3. Stormsbane

Selene was escorted to her guest chambers by a maid, who seemed almost as terrified of Selene as she was of Eleni.

"She will not harm you," Selene assured her. The maid attempted a smile, but it was more of a grimace.

Selene felt like exploring Winterfell, and so changed from her riding dress to something more comfortable: a simple black tunic with bright yellow stitching around the waist to represent her house. Her handmaiden Lori, a girl from a lesser house in the stormlands, was fussing over her as usual.

"Will you please sit still?" Lori said, exasperated. With a grunt, she shoved Selene into a simple chair before a mirror. Lori, ten years her senior, had watched Selene grow up. She was the only person who treated Selene with that amount of familiarity.

"Now, what kind of style would you like?" Lori said, smiling down at Selene's hair. She leaned forward and placed her cheek on Selene's, both of them looking forward at her reflection. "What will impress that little lord of yours?"

Selene blinked, "How do you know?"

Lori shrugged, "I figured your father would be looking for suitable matches. And who would be more suitable than the son of his oldest friend?" She was braiding as she spoke, "That boy doesn't realize how lucky he is."

Selene studied herself in the mirror. Her blue eyes were like a stormy sea, dark and tempermental. Her lips, nose, and cheeks were her mother's. It was beginning to worry her how much she looked like Cersei. The queen was widely known as the most beautiful woman in the seven kingdoms, so Selene supposed she should be pleased. Her eyes also fell to the curve of her chest and she frowned. The shapelier she was, the harder it was to fight. Lori assured her that she was going to outshine her own mother one day soon, but Selene already worried enough about turning into her mother.

Before long, Selene's hair was full of sturdy braids that came together as a plait down her back. This was a beautiful style, but more importantly this was the best way to keep her hair under control during a fight.

"Come on, girl," Selene called to Eleni, and together the two of them went to explore Winterfell.

The castle was larger than she could have possibly imagined. Endless corridors shot out in every direction. There were several courtyards as well. All she wanted to do was practice, and for that she needed to find the right courtyard. She heard the distant clattering of steel on steel and followed the sound.

Selene ended up outside in a large courtyard. An older man with a sword sheathed at his side was watching three older boys practice their sword fighting on wooden men. Selene watched curiously. Robb's jabs were strong, well placed, and sure. She didn't know the other two, but one was the boy with eyes like ice that she had seen earlier. Arya and Bran were entranced by the older boys' training.

The older man, who Selene guessed was the castle's master of arms, nodded, "That's enough for today. Make sure to get plenty of rest for tonight's feast and try not to get too drunk." The boys snickered while the master left the courtyard.

Selene thought this was as good a time as any to join in.

She walked from the shadows into the light of the courtyard, Eleni padding at her side. Robb turned and saw her, his face breaking into a smile. For the first time, she was able to look at him closely. He may have had Tully hair and eyes, but his sharp jawline and strong frame were all Stark. The smile faltered when he saw the sword at her hip.

"Princess?" Robb asked. The two boys behind him were silent. She looked at them expectantly.

Robb, who misunderstood what she was there for, said, "Of course, where are my manners?" He turned to the boys behind him. "This is my father's ward Theon Greyjoy," he said gesturing to the impish boy with a permanent mischievous smile. Greyjoy, Selene thought angrily. How could she have forgotten that the only living son of the rebel Balon Greyjoy lived in Winterfell?

"And this is my half-brother, Jon Snow." Robb said toward the boy with eyes like ice.

_So this is the famous Bastard of Winterfell,_ Selene thought. He looked like a spitting image of younger Ned Stark with his black curls and fair face. Whoever his mother was, there was little of her in her son. For some reason, she felt it hard to take her eyes off of him.

Robb shifted uncomfortably, "Would you like a tour of Winterfell, princess?"

"Not now, thank you," Selene said politely with a smile, "What I would love is some practice." She tapped the hilt of her sword, Stormsbane.

Robb and Jon glanced at each other, unsure how to tell her what she knew they were going to say.

"Princess…" Robb started, "in the north, it's unusual to train women in weaponry, and dishonorable for a man to fight a woman."

"It's unusual in the south as well," Selene countered, "but it's not so easy to tell me no."

Robb gave a half-hearted chuckle, but he was still unsure of what to do.

Luckily, Theon Greyjoy came to Selene's rescue.

"Why, of course Your Grace can join us," Theon said with a deep bow. He went off to where the wooden swords were and grabbed two. He presented one to Selene on bended knee, the hilt and body of the play sword flat in both palms. Eleni growled beside her.

"This is a sword meant for children," Selene said flatly.

"And women," Theon added with a grin that Selene wanted to slap off his face. She noticed people gathering around the courtyard, including her uncles Jamie and Tyrion, and all three of her siblings. She could see a deep smirk on Joffrey's face.

Selene took the sword without a word, turned on her heel, and walked a few paces. Eleni instinctively moved away from the fight. Selene turned sharply, facing Theon, sword held high. Too high actually. And her footing was all wrong. She pointed her toes inward, bent her knees too low, and wasn't protecting her center.

It was almost painful how wrong she stood, but not as painful as the smile that Theon was trying to suppress, or the disappointment that Robb and Jon were trying to hide.

She took a step forward and swung wildly. Theon easily blocked it. She swung again, slowly this time. Theon easily blocked it. He then performed a simple counter that a 10 year old Selene would have no problem dodging, but she let the wooden sword tap her. She swung forward again, this time meeting his sword in midair. It became a battle of strength, and Selene pretended to lose, the wooden sword hanging limply in her hands, her face cast to the side in fake exertion.

"One day, Your Grace," Theon began, "with a bit more practice, you-"

Selene wasn't listening. She glanced up at Robb and Jon through hooded eyes and shot them a quick wink.

They were confused for only a moment, until Selene corrected her posture in one clean move and bashed the side of Theon Greyjoy's face with the hilt of the wooden sword as hard as she could.

Blood spurted from his mouth as he collapsed. The mood in the courtyard changed dramatically. Selene walked up to where he was lying and drove the tip of the sword as hard as she could in the dirt beside his face. He looked up at her in terror.

"I haven't touched a wooden sword since I was a child," Selene informed him. "I was trained by Ser Barristan the Bold, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and I don't take kindly to your tone."

Selene turned to face Robb and Jon and drew her sword. Stormsbane's black blade glinted in the sunlight. She strode forward to Robb and swung at him. He was just able to block her blow, shock on his face as he took a couple of steps back. She could feel Jon behind her trying to slip away, so she turned and lunged at him. Jon instinctively blocked and countered quickly.

Selene jumped out of the way. Jon looked almost ashamed for attacking a woman, but Selene was beaming, her heart pounding in her chest with that familiar feeling of battle. She was light on her feet, slashing and hacking at both Robb and Jon, forcing them to treat her like a true opponent and use all their strength against her. After a series of landed blows, she could see their patience thinning. Their jabs came at her harder and quicker and she was forced to dive out of the way. They started to back her into a corner, their swords now so quick they were hard to see.

Selene needed to get out the trap. At the last possible moment, she swung at Robb as hard as she could. As Jon jolted to protect his brother, Selene threw herself against the now open wall and with one foot, jumped past where Jon had been standing. Whirling, she turned so that the two boys were stuck in the corner. Without room to swing their swords, Selene disarmed them and held her sword threateningly to their chests, her own chest heaving, lungs burning for air.

The courtyard was silent, the only sound being the labored breaths of Robb, Selene, and Jon. She had beaten countless men in her life, and was used to countless looks: rage, fear, and hate being a few of them. She was surprised at the twin looks Robb and Jon were giving her. They looked shocked, impressed, and...something Selene could not name.

Without a word, she sheathed her sword, turned on her heel, and walked back toward her chambers. As she passed Theon, still lying on the ground, wiping blood from his cheek, she was pleased at his look of apprehension. Theon Greyjoy looked as if he wanted to say something, but held his tongue.

At least some good came from this.


	4. Call Me Selene

"You should not have done that," Tyrion said airily as he lounged in a chair in Selene's chambers.

Selene glared at him through the mirror as Lori finished her hair for the welcome feast.

"Leave us," She said to Lori. With a curt bow, the handmaiden left the room.

Selene stood and rounded on him, the skirts of her gown swirling around her, "I don't care." She was seething. "I was not going to let that rebel's son speak to me like that."

"Understandable," Tyrion admitted, "but you may have scared your future husband away."

Selene crossed her arms over her chest, "My skill with sword is part of who I am. I am not going to pretend to be a perfect proper lady for anyone."

Tyrion smiled at her, "I know sweetling." He gestured for her to sit beside him. "It is one of the many reasons why I love you."

"How are you feeling?" Tyrion asked, his voiced laced with concern. "Knowing that you will soon be a wife? And have to move here? So far from King's Landing and your favorite uncle."

Despite herself, she smiled. Tyrion could always make her smile.

"I will miss you dearly, uncle," Selene said sincerely, "and Father, Myrcella, Tommen…" she sighed. "I always knew this day would come, I just did not realize how soon."

"I will visit you often," Tyrion promised. A smile crept on his face, "Would you like to come with me to the Wall? Consider it our last adventure."

Selene brightened, "You are going to see it?"

"When the rest of court goes back to King's Landing, yes. I want to piss off the edge of the world."

Selene laughed, "I will ask my father, but I would love to come."

There was a knock at the door.

"Enter."

The door opened gently, and Robb Stark was on the other side.

Selene rose quickly from her chair. "My lord," she said with a deep curtsey.

Robb stared at her.

Selene wondered why he was suddenly mute. Then she remembered what she wearing: a dress of pure silver silk, with a laced bodice that hugged her torso and accentuated her slender frame. The sleeves were tight on her arms until her elbows, were they flared out. Her hair was courtesy of Lori, who decided on an intricate network of braids that swirled at the back of her head, the rest of her curls bouncing down to her waist.

Tyrion cleared his throat.

Robb seemed to wake from the trance he was in. "Princess, it would be my honor to escort you to the feast."

Selene smiled at him, "The honor would be mine."

Robb gave a smile of relief.

Tyrion snorted. "While you two are busy honoring each other, I am going to take my leave." He kissed Selene's hand gently and left, giving Robb a warning look.

Selene gave Robb her arm, and together they walked to the feast.

Winterfell's great hall was smaller than what she was used to. It was bursting with song, the smell of meat, and the laughter of drunk men. Robb escorted her to her seat on the lower dais. Her father the king sat in the center of the upper dais, the queen at his left. She may as well have been sitting alone, for Robert talked only to Lord Stark on his right. Lady Stark sat beside her husband.

Selene and Robb sat in the center of their table as the eldest children of the King and Lord Stark. To Selene's right sat her siblings, to Robb's left sat his own. Selene noted that Theon sat as far from Selene as he possibly could and she smirked.

"You look beautiful, princess," Robb said so only she could hear.

She smiled, "Please, call me Selene."

He gave her a soft smile, "Alright, but only if you call me Robb."

"I will," Selene said. "Oh!" She suddenly remembered, "Tell me about your direwolves!"

"What?

"How did you find them? I heard there was one for each Stark child, which is an awfully strange coincidence. What are their names?"

Robb spoke excitedly about how they discovered the pups' dead mother in the woods, and how they decided to raise them. Grey Wind, his own, was growing quickly and was an extremely loyal beast. Robb told her of Lady, Nymeria, Summer, Shaggydog, and Ghost.

Selene frowned, "Where is your brother?" She did not see him in the hall.

Robb looked away, "My lady mother said his presence at the feast would offend the king."

"That's ludicrous," Selene said indignantly. "I do not mean any offense to your mother," she added hurriedly.

"I understand your frustration," Robb said earnestly. "I share it. To me, Jon is as much my brother as Bran and Rickon."

"That is very kind of you to say."

Selene heard a strange sound, like food splattering on skin.

"Arya!" Sansa shrieked.

Their side of the hall erupted in laughter. Selene found herself laughing along. At a nod from his mother, Robb forced himself to stop.

"Excuse me," He said to her. "I have to deal with my sister." She could tell in his eyes that he was amused.

"Time for bed," Robb said as he lifted Arya from her seat and walked her out of the hall.

Selene felt the wine getting to her head. King Robert was sitting in the center of the hall with a heavily bosomed maid on his lap. Her mother was speaking to Lady Stark, and Lord Stark was speaking to his brother from the Night's Watch. Selene left the heat of the hall to get some fresh air.

She was surprised to find Tyrion and Jon alone outside the hall. Their conversation died on her arrival, but the weight of it was heavy in the air. She looked at Jon, who was surely dressed for a feast, and he looked back at her. Like before, she couldn't look away.

"I'm going for a piss," Tyrion said ceremoniously.

"You better save a dance for me!" Selene called after him.

"You know I do not dance," Tyrion said over his shoulder.

"You will for me!" She could hear him laugh. Suddenly she was alone with Jon.

"I was sorry not to see you at the feast," Selene said, wondering why in the world her heart was pounding.

Jon looked surprised and nodded, "That's very kind of you, princess."

"Please, call me Selene."

"I do not think that is wise," Jon said. "I cannot refer to a princess by her first name."

"What if I command you to?"

Jon looked so thoughtful that she laughed. She walked up to him and he seemed to stiffen.

"Why are you so on edge?" Selene asked, exasperated.

"I have never met a princess before."

"Well, I'm not going to harm you."

Jon snorted.

She shot him an incredulous look.

"My apologies, but after today I am not so sure that's true."

Selene laughed, "Fair point." She shivered involuntarily, not realizing how cold it was outside. Without a word, Jon removed his outer cloak and placed it on Selene's shoulders. It smelled of firewood.

"Thank you," her voice felt small.

"I have never seen anyone fight like you," Jon said in awe. "Who taught you how to do that?"

"My Uncle Jaime was the first to train me," Selene admitted, not wanting to think about that first year any more that she had to. "Ser Barristan Selmy has been training me for years."

Jon seemed like he wished to speak further, but was interrupted.

"Selene!" Robb called out in the night. She turned to find him walking toward her, his face falling a little when he saw her alone with Jon.

"I was just telling Jon," Selene said to Robb, "that I wish for him to join our table at the feast."

Jon looked surprised.

"I think that is a wonderful idea," Robb voice was genuine, "but my lady mother-"

"If Lady Stark wishes to speak to me about the matter, I welcome her to." Selene said firmly. "If she gives you a hard time, Robb," she placed her hand gently on his arm, "you can blame me. Tell her I commanded you to."

Selene Baratheon walked toward the doors of the great hall and turned. Both sons of Ned Stark were giving her that look again, the one she could not place.

"Shall we?"


	5. A Dance With Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I've hyperlinked songs to the dances in this chapter for those who enjoy music with their stories. Enjoy this chapter!

Selene Baratheon walked into the great hall as confidently as she could: Robb Stark on her right, Jon Snow walking hesitantly on her left. Only Lady Stark and the other Stark children took note of Jon's arrival.

Selene walked to the lower dais, and asked for an extra chair for Jon. She could feel Lady Stark's eyes on her back and lifted her chin. She did not wish to be rude, but her station _was_ higher than Catelyn Stark's, and if challenged she would hold her own.

"Jon!" Bran and Rickon cried happily.

"Robb," Catelyn Stark said through grit teeth.

Robb took a deep breath, and went to his mother's side.

Jon Snow was so nervous he was almost shaking. "Why do you care whether I am at the feast?" he asked under his breath.

Selene had not given it much thought. She was quiet for a moment.

"Because it is not fair," she said finally. "You are not to blame for Lord Stark's actions."

Jon gave her a strange look. Suddenly, Selene felt her ears grow hot. She attributed it to the wine.

Robb took his seat beside her. "She's not happy," he said with a sigh, "but she will allow it."

Selene released a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Jon looked as if the weight of the world had been lifted of his shoulders. Bran and Rickon began to talk animatedly to their half-brother.

Robb took her hand. "I truly appreciate what you have done for my brother."

"It was nothing."

"No," Robb said firmly, his eyes boring into her. "It was not nothing."

Selene felt her ears grow warm again and decided to stop drinking.

"A message from the king!" one of the heralds cried out. The people in the hall fell quiet and her father's voice boomed through the hall.

"We have cause for celebration!" King Robert announced from his seat at the upper dais, his words slurring only slightly, his cheeks ruddy.

Lord Stark had a content smile, Lady Stark was hard to read, and the queen's face was stone.

"The Houses of Baratheon and Stark have always been great friends," Robert continued, "and now our friendship will be solidified with an unbreakable union."

Selene froze. She met Robb's eyes.

"A toast!" Robert boomed. "To the betrothal of Princess Selene of House Baratheon and Robb of House Stark, heir to Winterfell. "

The hall exploded in cheers. Everyone lifted the pints and eyes toward Robb and Selene. They stood up gracefully, smiling at the crowd. Sansa and Mrycella were beaming, Bran was explaining to Rickon what marriage was, and Joffrey wore his usual scowl that he reserved for Selene. She looked at Jon, who was clapping with the crowd, but his eyes were blank.

"A dance," Lord Stark declared. "For the future Lord and Lady of Winterfell."

Robb offered Selene his arm and led her to the center of the hall. Men cleared a space for them amongst the tables as the minstrels warmed up their instruments. Robb and Selene faced each other.

As the instruments began to [play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y8T4FxTNjAU), Robb knelt before her. The way he looked up at her made her stomach flip. She began to circle him, touching his palm as he lifted he hand above his head for her. When she completed her circle, he stood and took her hand in one of his own. The moved close to each other, and then away in time to the music. After a spin, he landed by her side with a hand still on hers. They turned and held each other with both hands, and then turned and reached out. He then slid a hand on her back, and held her close and they moved in circles around the hall. Everything else in the hall faded away until it was just her and Robb, alone in the world. Before she knew it the song was over, and the great hall deafening with applause.

Selene was breathless and beaming as she looked around the room. Their fathers were smiling with delight. Lady Stark was looking fondly at them as well. It wasn't until she looked at Jon, that her heart started to slow. He looked like he was in pain.

_Maybe he feels left out,_ Selene thought. And then an idea came into her mind.

She walked up to the minstrels and whispered a song to them. They looked a bit surprised, but began tuning their instruments.

Selene walked up to the lower dais and reached her hand out to Jon.

Beside the tuning of instruments, the hall was completely silent.

Jon's eyes were as wide as saucers. " _I can't_ ," he whispered through clenched teeth.

"Do not make me command you," Selene said sternly, but couldn't help the small smile that started to spread on her face. If she was going to be Lady Stark one day, she would make sure every Stark felt like a part of the family.

Jon looked up hesitantly at his father. Selene kept her eyes on Jon, too nervous to look anywhere else. As Jon took her hand, the band started to play.

Selene pulled him to the center of the dancefloor and began to spin. This [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AU5f8pfpgvo) was common in the south, with an upbeat tempo that was meant for fun. Jon was unsure on his feet, but Selene was light, her skirts spinning around her. As the song went on, she gestured toward her siblings and the Stark children to join them. Sansa and Myrcella were only too happy to oblige.

Soon, the whole hall was up and dancing, except those on the upper dais. Partners were switching quickly; sometimes Selene was dancing with high lords of the north, members of the royal party, or the Stark children. Robb was her partner for a minute, and he spun her so quickly the hall was a blur. She couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips. He spun her away and she landed in Jon's arms.

His confidence was growing by the second. Jon and Selene jumped around together in perfect time to the music. For the first time since she met him, Jon was wearing a large grin.

Too soon, the song ended. The hall burst into laughter and applause.

Suddenly, Robb was by her side, "Selene, would you accompany me on a walk?"

"Of course." As he led Selene outside, she looked back at Jon, who looked crestfallen.

The night air was sweet relief after the heat of the hall. Robb had taken her to the upper terrace, so as they walked, they looked down on Winterfell. She caressed the terrace walls as she walked.

_One day this will be mine_ , Selene thought, _Robb's, mine, and our children's…_ She wondered if their children's hair would be auburn or black. No doubt their eyes would be blue.

"Did you know about the betrothal?" Selene asked.

"Before you arrived, my father told me it was a possibility," Robb admitted.

"And when he did," Selene asked carefully, "what did you think?"

"What did I think?" Robb repeated, staring out into the night. "When I first saw you on your horse, your lioness by your side…."

Selene held her breath.

"I thought _that is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen."_

"Truly?" Selene said hopefully.

"Truly."

"And when I fought you in the courtyard?" she asked quickly, unable to stop herself, "You were not angry or disappointed?"

"Angry? Disappointed?" Robb's brows furrowed, "That my future wife is as ferocious as she is beautiful? That she is strong, brave, fearless…"

Selene leaned forward on her toes and gave Robb a quick kiss on the lips. Her first kiss.

"I apologize," Selene said quickly, her cheeks pink. "No one has ever said-"

Robb kissed her back. It was chaste and full of promise.

"I think we will be truly happy together," Robb said, his hand gently holding her cheek.

"I think so, too."


	6. More Than A Sword

The next day, there was a celebratory hunt to commemorate Lord Eddard Stark accepting the position of Hand of the King and the betrothal of Selene and Robb.

Selene stroked her horse, a black stallion named Thunder, at the stables. Eleni was by her side.

"Excited to hunt in the wolfswood, Eleni?" Selene asked her loyal companion. Eleni purred. "I know," she continued. "It has been a while since you hunted."

Eleni nudged her side.

Selene laughed. "Alright, I'll show you some love, too." She scratched the back of Eleni's ear.

"That is a wild beast, not a house cat," Jamie Lannister said to his niece.

A low rumble came from Eleni's throat.

"She would never harm me," Selene said defensively. Jamie shrugged. "Are you coming on the hunt?" she asked, knowing he enjoyed the chase.

"No, I'm staying behind." Jaime said, avoiding her gaze.

_Something doesn't feel right_ , Selene thought. Jamie never missed an opportunity to show off.

"What are you doing at the stables?"

Before Jaime could answer, Hullen, the master of horse, came to gather the horses for the hunt. Without another word to her uncle, Selene leapt on Thunder and left with Hullen.

The men of Winterfell and the royal party were waiting in the courtyard for their horses. They seemed surprised to see Selene already mounted.

"He is beautiful," Robb said, stroking Thunder's nose. "Not nearly as beautiful as his rider," he said so only she heard.

Selene blushed furiously. Ever since their kisses last night, she had thought of little else.

"You hunt, princess?" Jon asked curiously. Selene gave him a look until he sighed and corrected himself, "You hunt, Selene?"

"Better," Selene said with a smile. "Yes, I do," she gestured to the quiver and bow slung around her back. "I enjoy archery."

"For some reason, I am not surprised," Jon said dryly.

Selene laughed.

King Robert and Lord Stark led the party into the wolfswood. Ned seemed like he wished to converse with Robert, but her father was reveling in the hunt.

"For gods' sake Ned," Robert boomed after one too many words. "We can talk later. Let us hunt and drink!"

Selene rode by Robb's side, Jon and Theon close by.

"I think I will present you with a wolf's pelt," Robb said grandly, "since you will soon become a wolf."

"Not if I present you with one first," Selene said, spurring Thunder forward. She could hear Robb laughing behind her.

"Must everything be a competition?" he yelled.

"That is exactly what a loser would say!"

That afternoon the party caught several stags, deer, and one wolf, caught by Robb. He spoke with Theon a few paces ahead, while Selene rode beside Jon, Eleni hunting close by.

Jon had not caught anything. Whenever he shot from his crossbow, his arrows missed without fail.

"Do you dislike hunting?" she asked.

"No, only...only when it becomes more about pageantry than skill." Jon sounded tired.

Just then Eleni padded back to her. Thunder was accustomed to the large lioness, but Jon's horse brayed. Eleni had fresh, wet blood darkening the fur around her muzzle.

"I am surprised you enjoy it so much."

Selene had never given it much thought. "I feel closest to my father when we hunt. He hates sitting on the throne and being at court." She looked ahead where the King and Ned were speaking. "He's meant for riding…with a weapon in his hand and an enemy before him…and I suppose I am, too." she ended quietly.

"No, you're not," Jon said bluntly.

Selene raised an eyebrow, "Oh, and you know me so well?"

"I saw you at the feast," Jon said. "You're more than a sword. You love to wear fine things and dance. You're more of a princess than you think."

Selene thought for a moment. "A princess who can outride you." Before he could respond, she urged Thunder to a gallop, Jon close at their heels.

Winterfell was quiet when they arrived. Maester Luwin stood solemnly in the middle of the great courtyard awaiting his lord's return. After a quick word to Ned, Lord Stark jumped from his horse and sped off in the direction of the family apartments. Maester Luwin was close behind and moved quicker than a man his age should have been able to.

"Father?" Robb chased after him. Jon and Theon exchanged nervous glances and followed.

Selene frowned. A wolf howled mournfully. _Something terrible has happened._

Selene dismounted and walked up to the king. "What should we do, Father?"

"This is a family matter, Selene. We should wait until they are ready to tell us," Robert dismounted and walked off.

Tommen and Myrcella ran up her.

"Selly! Selly!" They cried and embraced her.

"What's happened?" she asked, holding them close.

"It's Bran!" Myrcella said between sobs. "He has fallen from one of the towers!"

Selene's blood went cold. She knelt down so she was slightly below them both.

"It's alright…" she tried soothing her siblings, but her own heart was racing. She was dying to run to the Starks, to see if Bran was alive.

"You both are okay," Selene assured them. In the distance, she saw her mother standing at the doorway of the great hall.

"Children," the queen called.

"Come," Selene said, holding their hands and leading them to the queen.

"Stay inside with me," Cersei said lovingly to Tommen and Myrcella. She glanced at Selene's dirty riding clothes disapprovingly.

"Do you know what happened, Mother?"

"Young Brandon fell." When Selene didn't speak, her mother sighed, "Apparently he climbs all the time, and this time he had the misfortune of falling."

"Is he…?"

The queen looked back to make sure Tommen and Myrcella were out of earshot. "The child fell from a great height and is surely dead."

Selene swayed a little. "I'm going to go check on the Starks," her voice sounded far away.

She climbed the stairs to the family apartments, with each step wondering if she was doing the right thing. Her father advised her to leave this matter to the family, but the Starks were to become her family. Bran would have been her good brother. She swallowed forcefully.

Jon was outside the door to Bran's room, his ear pressed to the door hard, his face red with rage, his boots scuffed as if he had kicked the stone walls.

"Jon?"

He looked up at her, eyes tinged red.

"Father said it would be better if I waited outside," Jon spat bitterly. "He's my brother, too."

Before Selene knew what she was doing, she threw her arms around him. He didn't move at first with shock, but then returned the embrace, squeezing her tightly.

"I am so sorry," Selene said softly, her words thick with sorrow.

"He is alive…I know it," Jon whispered fiercely in her hair.

The door swung open and they jumped apart.

"I came as soon as I heard," Selene said quickly. Theon had opened the door and looked between them strangely. Selene's blood burned as she realized that this Greyjoy had been treated like more of a member of the family than Jon, Bran's own brother.

Theon turned his head back into the room, "Robb."

Robb came outside looking grief stricken.

"How is he?"

"He's alive," Robb said, and Selene breathed a great sigh of relief and smiled up at him, but Robb wasn't finished.

"He will not wake," Robb continued, "and even if he did, Maester Luwin says he will never walk again." He tried to hide the pain on his face, but failed.

Selene placed her hand gently on his cheek, and he fell into her arms. She held him tightly. "This is a terrible tragedy," she said, her arms wrapped around his neck, "but Robb," she moved so he was still holding her, but both her hands cupped his face. "He is still _alive._ He will wake."

Robb nodded, a small smile on his face, "I need to be with my family."

Selene nodded and released him.

Robb looked at Jon. "I will get you inside that room," he said resolutely, and went back inside.

Selene gave Jon one last look and left. Before she turned the corner, she could have sworn she heard a small, grateful voice.

"Thank you."


	7. Goodbye Father

The next fortnight passed in a haze of sleepless nights and long, grey days. Selene's dreams were filled with terrible scenes of lions devouring wolves. She awoke with the howls and roars and snaps and screams still ringing in her ears each morning. She spent her days with Tyrion in Winterfell's library. He was thrilled to discover some rare editions and Selene found comfort in the old pages full of dragons.

She and Tyrion shared a morbid fascination with the creatures. They were ancient, powerful, and the very same family her father overthrew used to rule them. Selene spent her childhood sneaking down into the cellars beneath the Red Keep where her father stored the dragon skulls. King Robert hated the Targaryens and never wished to speak of them, except to spit on their memory, but Tyrion, like herself, was riveted by their history.

Selene was giving the Starks the space they needed to grieve. With each passing day, her hope that Bran would wake diminished, but Robb's faith never wavered. He sometimes joined her in the library, but his mind was always on Bran or the impending departure of his family to King's Landing and the Wall.

Jon Snow had decided join the Night's Watch. Selene didn't understand why the news had saddened her. Maybe it was the thought that Jon would spend the rest of his life freezing on the Wall amongst the criminals of the Seven Kingdoms. Jon deserved better.

The day finally came when they were to depart Winterfell. Tyrion and Selene would journey with Benjen and Jon to the Wall, while the rest of the royal family, Lord Stark, Sansa, and Arya would go south to King's Landing. With Bran still unconscious, the day was morose. Selene had a terrible feeling in her stomach about leaving Winterfell.

King Robert had allowed her to see the Wall with Tyrion at her mother's insistence, if only to be rid of her daughter for a few months. For once, Cersei's disdain for Selene worked in her favor.

Robb was to stay in Winterfell and be its lord while his father was away. The commotion of the royal departure had filled the air with men's shouting, horse braying, and the clatter of wagons. Snow flurried lightly around Robb and Selene as they said their goodbyes.

"I'll send a raven when Bran wakes up."

"I look forward to receiving it."

"Are you sure there is no way you could stay in Winterfell until our marriage?" Robb asked hopefully. His tone made her smile.

"I have responsibilities in King's Landing," Selene explained. "Besides, I know the court, and a man as honest as your lord father could use my help dealing with all the snakes in the capital."

"My father is lucky to have you as his defender," Robb said reverently.

Selene laughed. "But soon I will return," she continued with a smile on her face, "and we will live out our days together as man and wife."

Robb looked at her warmly, took her hand, and kissed it, not once taking his eyes off of her. "I count the days until then."

Her heart was beating erratically. She never dared hope that she would enjoy the idea of marriage, yet here she was. She mounted Thunder, and with one last long look at Robb, left him to say his goodbyes to Jon.

As the parties split, one riding north, the other south, Selene exchanged a quick word with her father.

"Do not keep me waiting too long for your return," King Robert ordered. "King's Landing is miserable enough, but without you I fear I will lose my wits."

"You can't lose what you've never had," Selene said sweetly.

Robert's laughter boomed over the rolling hills. "Careful, girl," he warned, without a hint of true anger in his eyes.

Selene laughed. "I know that Uncle Tyrion wishes to take his time back to King's Landing, but I plan on riding full speed all the way home."

The king nodded his approval. "Good. Keep warm," and with that, he rode south. Selene rode hard to catch up with Tyrion and Benjen. She looked behind, where Jon and Lord Stark were saying their farewells.

After a few minutes, Jon caught up to their party, his eyes serious.

They had a long journey ahead, so Selene tried to pass the time.

"What makes you want to take the black?"

"Starks have been manning the Wall for millennia," Jon said, as if he was reminding himself.

"Hmm," Selene pretended to think. "You didn't answer my question."

"If it pleases Your Grace, I have just said goodbye to my entire family and would appreciate some peace," Jon said with practiced politeness.

Selene furrowed her brows, "As you wish." She spurred Thunder forward to Tyrion.

"My dear niece," Tyrion said without so much as a glance. "You look as if you have swallowed something sour."

"I'm fine," Selene lied. Jon's feelings were understandable, so why had she taken it so personally? "Speaking of looks," she continued, "Robb Stark and Jon Snow…"

"Yes?" Tyrion did not even try to hide his knowing smile.

Heat rose quickly to her cheeks. "I didn't mean it like that," she said in a low hiss.

"Please enlighten me, then, sweetling."

"They keep looking at me strangely…" Selene thought of the several times she had caught their odd expressions throughout her stay in Winterfell. "I don't know what their looks mean."

"I'd have thought you'd be used to it by now," Tyrion said thoughtfully, more to himself than to her. "You are still so young. You'll understand that look soon enough."

The north was endless.

With every mile the temperature dropped. Even her warmest clothes weren't enough. She was concerned for Eleni, who was not meant for this weather.

The first night, Selene had been worried that the lioness and direwolf would fight. Two incredibly powerful, ferocious, and territorial creatures around the same fire made the party nervous. The two creatures had circled each other warily and silently for what seemed like hours. Jon had stood behind Ghost, Selene behind Eleni, both masters ready to call their beasts to heel should things take a turn for the worst. Eventually, to everyone's shock, they had licked each other muzzles and curled beside each other next to the flames. Selene and Jon let out dual sighs of relief.

"It seems the wolf loves the lion," Tyrion said happily, having had a bit too much wine to keep warm that night. "What will their families think?" he asked, right before passing out in the snow.

As the days rolled on, the freezing wind cut through Selene's woolen clothes like a knife. She shivered silently in her saddle, not wanting to complain. Benjen Stark had not been pleased when he heard that the king's daughter and the queen's brother meant to join them on their journey. "I warn you, southerners, you will find no inns at the Wall."

"No doubt you'll find some place to put me," her uncle had replied with grace. "As you might have noticed, I'm small." Selene didn't want to give Stark the satisfaction of knowing she couldn't handle the harsh weather.

Jon had noticed her chill. That night, he handed her his warmest fur-lined cloak without a word.

"I can't," Selene had protested. "You'll be cold."

"You need it more than me." And he wouldn't hear any more of it.

Tyrion noticed the new cloak she wore, raised a brow, but thankfully said nothing. They waited an extra night at the end of the wolfswood for a black brother and two new recruits.

Yoren was stooped, and seemed as hard as stone with a twisted shoulder and matted black beard full of lice. He looked coldly at the two recruits from the Fingers. "Rapists," he grumbled, and went to join Benjen and the other men to set up camp for the night.

Selene stared at the two boys. They looked back in a way that made her skin crawl.

Jon stood. "If you two keep looking at her like that," he warned in a low voice, "then joining the Watch to escape castration would have been for nothing."

Ghost stood as silent as death at his side.

The boys' eyes widened, and they hurried to join the other men in preparing camp.

"You don't belong with them," Selene said softly.

Jon said nothing. He disappeared into the night, Ghost following him as closely as a shadow.


	8. The Wolf and the Lioness

The night passed slowly. Selene couldn't stop herself from glaring at the rapists while she ate by the fire. She would look from them to Jon and back again, trying to figure out in what twisted world a boy as honorable as Jon would serve in the same order as rapists.

Jon was silent during the meal. Selene caught him observing Yoren's lice ridden beard and the stupid faces of the rapists with what was clearly disappointment.

Selene needed some air, so she went to find Tyrion. He was leaning against the trunk of a grotesquely ancient oak beside a swift-running stream with waters as clear and as cold as ice. He was curled up in his furs with a book in one hand and his wineskin in the other. Selene was hardly surprised. He looked deep in thought when she approached.

"Ah…my little lion cub." Tyrion said affectionately as she walked toward him. She was just about to remind him, as she always did, that she was a stag, not a lion, when he continued, "And I see you've brought a distraught wolf with you."

Selene turned sharply. She hadn't realized Jon was following her. He looked surprised, as if he had been walking in a trance. Probably to escape the grim company around the campfire.

Jon looked at Tyrion curiously, "Why do you read so much?"

Tyrion glanced at Selene uncertainly, closed the book on a finger, and said, "Look at me and tell me what you see."

Jon seemed puzzled. "Is this some kind of trick? I see you. Tyrion Lannister."

Tyrion sighed. "You are remarkably polite for a bastard…"

Tyrion then went on to describe what ailments he dealt with as a dwarf and the fact that he would have been left out to die were he born a peasant. The thought burned Selene. She hated the people who called him Imp, and how her grandfather Tywin always looked down on him when Tyrion was easily worth a hundred Jaimes to her.

"…and a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge. That's why I read so much, Jon Snow."

Jon sat in silence. The darkness cast shadows on his face, making him look more a Stark than ever.

"What are you reading about?"

"Dragons," Selene offered, recognizing the cover from their time in the Winterfell library.

Jon scrunched his nose, "What good is that? There are no more dragons."

"So they say," Tyrion said softly. "When I was your age, I used to dream of having a dragon of my own."

Jon look surprised, but Selene smiled. Years ago in King's Landing, after she had first found the dragon skulls beneath the Red Keep, she wrote a hasty letter to Tyrion, who was at the Rock at the time, about her discovery, knowing he was the only person in the world who would care as much as she did. Before she knew it, he had journeyed to King's Landing to wander the cellars with her, describing all he had read about dragons as Eleni, just a cub at the time, bounded around by their feet. Selene and Tyrion had dreamed of what they would name their dragons, what they would look like, and how big they would be. She remembered Tyrion laughing when she told him she would set her dragon on Cersei and Joffrey.

"I think I would, too," Tyrion had said.

In the present, he was saying, "I used to start fires in the bowels of Casterly Rock and stare at the flames for hours, pretending they were dragonfire. Sometimes I'd imagine my father burning. At other times, my sister."

Jon looked horrified, but Tyrion just laughed.

"Don't look at me that way, bastard," Tyrion chuckled. "I know your secret. You've dreamt the same kind of dreams."

"No," Jon said, disturbed. "I wouldn't…"

"No? Never?" Tyrion raised a brow, "Well no doubt the Starks have been terribly good to you. I'm certain Lady Stark treats you as if you were one of her own…"

Jon looked away, "It doesn't-"

"-matter?" Tyrion finished, "What doesn't matter? Your own brother Robb, he's always been kind, and why not? He gets Winterfell, a beautiful princess to call wife, and the chance to father a happy family while you get the Wall."

"Tyrion, that's _enough."_ Selene said sharply. Jon's face was darkening with rage, and behind it genuine sadness.

Tyrion wouldn't stop. "And your father…he must have good reasons for packing you off to the Night's Watch-"

"Stop it," Jon said loudly. "The Night's Watch is a noble calling!"

Tyrion laughed. "You're too smart to believe that. The Night's Watch is a place for all the misfits of Westeros. A place to put you so no one else has to look at you. I've seen you watching your fellow valiant brothers-in-arms…that's your new family, Jon Snow, how do you like them? Sullen peasants, debtors, poachers, rapists, thieves, and bastards like you all wind up on the Wall, watching for grumkins and snarks and all the other monsters your wet nurse warned you about. The good part is there are no monsters, so it's hardly dangerous work. The bad part is you freeze your balls off, but since you're not allowed to breed anyway, I don't suppose it matters."

" _Stop it!_ " Jon screamed. He took a step forward towards Tyrion, his fists clenched and eyes wet with tears.

" _Tyrion_ ," Selene said furiously. "Apologize. _Now_. _"_

At least Tyrion had the grace to look ashamed. Selene watched his brows furrow as he realized how cruel he was actually being. Tyrion stepped forward to offer an apology.

Selene never saw the wolf. One moment Tyrion was there, the next he was meters away, flat on his back, groaning in pain.

"Tyrion!" Selene ran toward him and knelt by his side. She could see blood dribbling out of the corner of his lip, and his back was spasming, but besides that he seemed unhurt. She looked over her shoulder at Jon.

"You hurt him!" Selene yelled angrily.

Ghost stood between them. He was eerily silent, his red eyes transfixed not on her, but on Tyrion. The wolf bared his teeth.

A golden bolt came from nowhere and collided with Ghost. The wolf and lioness went sprawling into the dirt in a flurry of white and gold. Growls and snaps filled the air, like in Selene's nightmares.

"Eleni!" Selene called sharply.

"Ghost, to me!" Jon had yelled at the same time.

The wolf and lion jumped apart and stood protectively in front of their masters. Eleni let out a warning roar, every muscle in her body tensed and ready to defend her own. Ghost was silent, but on guard. Selene's eyes raked Eleni, but she didn't seem to be hurt.

Tyrion, however, was hurt and trying to rise. He collapsed with a frustrated grunt, "Alright, Jon, don't worry about me. We'll just wait here until you leave."

Jon was smiling as he stroked Ghost's fur, "Ask me to help you up nicely."

Fury burned in Selene's chest. Before she could respond, Tyrion said, "I should be very grateful for your kind assistance, Jon."

"Down, Ghost," Jon said, and looked at Eleni. Selene stared at Jon hard for a tense moment.

"Down, Eleni." Both beasts sat on their haunches, not taking their eyes off of each other. Jon stepped forward and lifted Tyrion from the ground. He even handed Tyrion back the book that had fallen into the dirt.

"Why did he attack me?" Tyrion asked, eyeing Ghost as he wiped dirt and blood from his face with the back of his hand.

"Maybe he thought you were a grumkin."

Selene looked at Jon incredulously, but Tyrion laughed. A snort at first, but then he was howling with laughter. Jon began to laugh, and before Selene knew it she was laughing so hard her sides hurt.

"Oh gods," Tyrion was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes as Jon handed him back his wineskin. "I suppose I do rather look like a grumkin. What does he do to snarks?"

"You don't want to know," Jon said, shaking his head as he raised his brows, and they all found themselves in another fit of laughter.

Tyrion squeezed a stream of wine into his mouth between laughs. "Want some?" he offered to Jon.

Jon took a long swallow. "It's true, isn't it?" he said softly, "What you said about the Night's Watch." He passed the skin to Selene. She took a long drink.

"I'm afraid it is."

He looked at Selene, hoping she would contradict Tyrion, but she stayed silent.

Jon nodded resolutely, "If that's what it is, that's what it is."

Selene felt pity for Jon, but Tyrion was grinning approvingly, "That's good, bastard. Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it."

"Most men," Jon said, "but not you."

"No, not me," Tyrion admitted. "I seldom dream of dragons anymore…there are no more dragons." And with that Tyrion was off. "I'm going to go to bed," he called over his shoulder, "and if you two are smart, you will too."

Without a word, Jon turned in the opposite direction and stalked off into the woods alone.

"Jon!" Selene called.

"I need some air," he said as he walked off.

He didn't give her time to point out that they were in the middle of a forest, and there was a great source of air around them already. Selene didn't feel like sleeping, so she followed him. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Ghost and Eleni padding off together. _They're going to go hunt,_ she thought, thankful that neither had been hurt in the squabble, as she followed Jon into darkness.

After what felt like miles, he finally stopped in a small clearing, drew his sword, and began practicing hard. He was slashing and hacking in the air, as if fighting an invisible opponent.

Selene drew her own sword and snuck up behind him.

Quick as lightning, he slashed at her. She thrust up her sword surely and blocked it.

Jon looked alarmed, "What are you doing sneaking up on me?" He was loud and frustrated, "I could have hurt you."

Selene frowned, "No, you couldn't have."

Jon sighed, "I'm trying to be alone."

"You have your entire life to be alone," Selene pointed out. When Jon's face fell, she continued, "I'm sorry for what Tyrion said."

"He's right." When she didn't speak, a growl rose in his throat, "Not one person in the world told me the truth except him. Not even you."

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault."

"I can still feel-"

"-sorry for me?" Jon finished. "I don't want your pity, Your Grace."

" _Your Grace,"_ Selene repeated. "I thought I told you to call me Selene."

"What's the _point?_ " Even in the darkness, the pain was clear as day on his face. "Calling you by your name doesn't legitimize me…it doesn't make you lowborn. What does it _matter_ what I call you?"

Selene turned her face from him. "I thought we were friends."

"We can't be."

She rounded on him, her sword arm up. "Don't presume to tell _me_ what I can do." She took a step forward and swung with all her strength. He dodged it, but just barely. "If it takes fighting for you and I to be on the same level then…let's…fight." With each pause their swords collided.

Instinct kicked in, or Jon finally decided to show his true strength, but either way he swung back. Rage fueled every swing, but who his rage was truly meant for, Selene wasn't sure. She blocked, countered, spun, duck, twisted…every move she could possibly think of, but Jon was there, matching her blow for blow. She didn't hold back, but neither did he.

Finally, Jon gripped her wrist. Selene struggled, but Stormsbane fell into the cold hard dirt. Jon kicked it away.

Ser Barristan had given her some training in hand to hand combat. _Sometimes, princess, you have to be your own weapon_. Selene twisted out of Jon's grip and sent an elbow into his chest. With a grunt, his sword fell from his hand. It was a battle of strengths now, and as hard as Selene tried, Jon knocked her feet out from beneath her and pinned her down on the forest floor.

Selene struggled, not one to give up. "Let me go," she commanded through gritted teeth. Tears stung her eyes, but she didn't know why.

"You won't ever stop fighting, will you?" Jon asked, his voice was thick with fury, but his eyes were filled with something else. That look again.

"No, I won't," Selene said as she shot her knee into his stomach.

Jon let out a groan of pain, but kept his grip.

"You know what?" he yelled in her face.

She was just about to yell back when he kissed her.

Selene froze completely, pure shock numbing her brain. His lips were clumsy, inexperienced, yet her cheeks were aflame. This kiss was different than Robb's. His had been innocent and promising. Jon's was desperate, the kiss of someone who believed he would never be kissed again.

All of this ran through her mind for the split second Jon's lips were on hers. He quickly pulled away, his grip of her wrists loosening. He froze, as if not fully believing what he had just done.

Selene blinked up at him, eyes wide. He looked back and forth between her eyes, trying to assess the damage, trying to think of what to say.

"Selene…"

Before she had time to second guess herself, she slid her hand behind his neck and pulled his face towards hers. At first he was still, but then leaned into her. For one glorious second, the only thing in the world was the hard ground beneath her and Jon's warmth above her. They only kissed for a few seconds, but they were the longest seconds of Selene's life.

When Jon pulled away, his eyes seemed far away, as if he was dreaming. Selene knew she shared his expression. All at once, his mind returned.

He shot up from the ground, taking all his warmth with him. He looked down at her, eyeing the flush of her cheeks, the dishevelment of her clothes, and the inflamed marks on her wrists from where he had gripped her during the fight, and began to panic.

"I'm so sorry," His voice broke on the last word.

"Jon," Selene started, but he had turned and bolted.

"Jon!" she cried again, but he left her there in the dirt with nothing but an ache in her chest and a restless mind.


	9. Another Life

Selene Baratheon willed the tears to stop as she lay awake that night, but they would not. She was ashamed of herself for how she had acted, terrified of someone finding out, and miserable at the thought being married to another while Jon rotted away at the wall.

_Robb_. She knew in her gut she truly liked him. He accepted her for who she was. He made her laugh. He was handsome. When she danced with him her heart had sung, and she had found it hard to leave him behind at Winterfell. So why was she so confused?

_Could it just be pity?_ Selene glanced over to where Jon was sleeping, his darks curls peeking over furs. _No,_ she thought to herself sternly. She had felt sorry for people before, but no one has ever made her heart pound like this. Jon's back was to her, and she wondered if he too was lying awake in agony as she was.

Selene must have fallen asleep at some point during the night, because she awoke to Tyrion's concerned face hovering above her.

"My dear niece," his eyes scanned her, "I believe you're falling ill."

"I'm fine," Selene managed, but her throat felt raw.

"Stark!" Tyrion called. Selene's heart stopped for a moment before she realized he was calling Benjen. "My niece is ill. She needs more furs to keep warm and lots of rest."

Benjen failed to hide a scowl. "We need to keep moving."

"And we will," Tyrion was adamant, "but the princess's health is paramount." He drew himself up and spoke to Benjen in his Lord of Lannister voice. He would not yield when it came to Selene.

She glanced over to where Jon was packing his things. He refused to look at her. She wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse.

_I've betrayed Robb,_ Selene thought miserably as they rode north. _I've shamed my father and my house._

Jon and Benjen led the party while Tyrion and Selene were at the rear. They were far enough behind to speak without being overhead.

"Sweetling..." Tyrion started. His sympathy was enough to make her cry. She bit her lip. Tyrion always noticed.

"Please don't make me speak." The words were hard to get out.

"Alright," Tyrion said softly, "then listen. I know you and Jon Snow took a while to get back to camp last night, and there's been an unusual lack of longing looks and substandard banter."

Tears were swimming in her eyes, blurring the path ahead.

"I just want to remind you that I love you, no matter the circumstances." Tyrion always cared. He wasn't like anyone else in her family. Selene knew the king loved her, but she could never tell her father a secret like this. Tyrion would take her secret to the grave. He would never betray her. He truly loved her.

"I've shamed myself," Selene choked out, needing someone to confide in. The guilt was gnawing at her, eating her alive.

Tyrion looked worried, but said, "It's perfectly understandable." He looked ahead to where Jon was riding. "He's a fine-looking, intelligent, and honest young man," He glanced nervously at her belly, "but we need to deal with the consequences."

Selene glanced down at her stomach, confused, until it struck her. "I'm _not_ with child," she whispered so fiercely her throat burned.

"What?" Tyrion was perplexed.

"We only kissed," she said in the smallest voice she had.

Tyrion let out a great sigh of relief and chortled.

" _Are you laughing at me?"_ Selene wasn't sure her heart could take Tyrion's mockery.

"No my sweet, sweet girl," Tyrion said fondly. "I'm just relieved beyond measure. You did yourself no dishonor."

"I-"

"An innocent kiss amongst children," Tyrion waved his hand. "Nothing more. It's hardly worthy of note."

"I'm promised to another," Selene stressed. "To his _brother._ "

"So you can be sure he will never tell a soul for fear of his brother's wrath," Tyrion reasoned.

"I've never felt this way before, Uncle."

Tyrion gave her a genuine smile. "This is first love, sweetling. It's a precious thing."

"It _hurts_."

His smile grew sad. "It tends to."

"What do I do?" Selene knew the answer before she asked the question. The answer had kept her up most of the night.

"You, my brave lioness, will do your duty, as you always have," Tyrion said confidently. "It would probably be best to speak with him before we go south. I've seen him this morning, and he looks worse than you."

Selene gave one sharp laugh. Tyrion could always comfort her. She remembered the terrible day years ago when Jamie had refused to continue her sword training. She had been inconsolable for weeks until Tyrion visited the capital.

She wondered when she would get her chance to speak to Jon, until Eleni appeared beside Thunder, fur soaking wet.

Selene furrowed her brows. Had Eleni fallen into a river? She looked over at Tyrion.

"She probably found a hot spring," Tyrion said as he stretched in his saddle. "Now doesn't that sound like a glorious idea."

A notion popped into Selene's head.

She dug her heels into Thunder to get him to a full gallop, pulling up to block the party's path as he reared. Eleni bounded to Thunder's side.

"What is it, princess?" Benjen asked, alarmed. Somehow, Stark had always managed to make the word 'princess' sound like an insult.

"I need a bath." She kept her eyes focused on Benjen.

Benjen scoffed, "We are not stopping so you can bathe. We're expected to reach the Wall by midnight."

Selene remembered herself.

"I don't want to ride in the dark and risk a broken ankle for my horse," Selene said authoritatively, "I know you're a man of the Night's Watch and don't feel the need to obey me, but you're also a brother to Lord Eddard Stark. I'm a lady of Storm's End, a princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and the future Lady of Winterfell. I want to stop. We'll leave at dawn."

Benjen eyed her curiously. Finally, he nodded.

Selene felt a surge of pride as she jumped off her horse. "Eleni," she said as she ran her hand over the lion's wet coat. "Lead."

Eleni padded off into the forest, Selene close at her heels.

She walked through the brush until Eleni led her to a small slit between two boulders. She could feel heat emanating from the crevice. Eleni nudged her back.

Selene giggled. "Alright, I get it," she said, giving her an affectionate scratch behind the ear. Selene slid between the two boulders until she found herself in a cave.

The heat engulfed her and forced her to take off the thick cloak that Jon had loaned her. There were a series of pools around the cave, but the one in the center was the largest and most inviting. Cracks in the roof of the cave allowed dim light to filter in. She hadn't felt this warm in weeks.

"Eleni, guard," she said behind her. The lioness laid on her belly with a small grunt outside the cave's entrance.

Selene removed layers of clothing until she was only in her shift. She stood at the edge of the largest pool and looked down. Steam was coming off the top, the water crystal clear, and she could see the bottom several meters below. Safe enough for her to jump into.

With a wide smile, Selene removed her shift in one clean motion and jumped into the hot spring. Completely submerged in its warmth, she held her breath for as long as she could, relishing the heat.

When her lungs began to beg for oxygen, she threw her head above the water. The air in the cave was chilly in comparison to the hot spring. Her muscles began to relax, and she realized just how sore all the riding had made her. The water did wonders for her mind, and she was finally able to focus.

Selene had a clear choice. She could rule her feelings, or she could let them rule her.

She was going to marry Robb Stark. It was her duty, and luckily she felt it would soon be her pleasure. She knew she could fall in love with Robb given time and she saw a joyous future ahead of her in Winterfell, bringing little Starks into the world and ruling the north by his side.

She would never be with Jon Snow. He was a bastard and she was a princess. He would spend his life on the Wall as a man of the Night's Watch and she would spend hers as the Lady of Winterfell. Perhaps in another life they could have been together, but not this one.

She had to speak with him.

"Eleni," Selene called. The lioness padded in slowly.

"Bring me Jon Snow." Eleni gave a puff of protest. "Now, please." Eleni was far too intelligent for her own good. Finally, the lioness left the cave in search of Jon.

Selene wished she could spend eternity in the spring. She felt safe, relaxed, and at peace. The world outside was cold and cruel by comparison, but she couldn't hide in here forever.

After a few minutes of drying off, she put on her shift. Her long hair looked even longer as it lay flat, plastered to her back. She had just finished dressing, except for her thick outer tunic, when Jon entered into the cave.

His eyes met hers, and she could see what Tyrion had been talking about. Jon looked unkempt, as if he hadn't slept either. He was wearing a grimace, like someone was pressing a blade to his side.

"You wish to see me, princess?" Jon asked with a deep bow.

Selene thought of her epiphany in the hot spring, and smiled sadly.

"Jon, please," Her voice was strained. She took a deep breath, "Call me Selene. I want us to be friends."

Jon looked up at her through lowered eyelids. The whites of his eyes were reddening as he fought off tears. 

"I have never been sorrier for anything in my life," Jon's voice was thick. "If I could take it back, I would."

"I wouldn't," Selene said levelly.

Jon's head jerked back in surprise, "But-"

"That's how I feel about you, Jon," Selene slowly stepped closer to him. "I wanted you to kiss me, and I wanted to kiss you back," she was close enough to see the stubble of the beard that would soon grow on his chin, "but we both know it can never be."

Jon looked relieved. And sad.

"I've wanted to kiss you since the moment I saw you," he admitted. "When you first swung your sword at me...that's when I knew for sure."

Selene gave a small chuckle.

"And then you fought for my place at the table." The words were pouring out, Jon's eyes glancing back and forth between her own. "Lady Stark didn't want me at the feast, but you fought for me. When she didn't want me in Bran's room after he fell, you comforted me. Selene…" he struggled to find the words, "I've always known my place, but you make me feel like I'm worthy of more."

"You are," she said softly.

"I've never imagined myself with a wife and children," Jon said. Noticing her expression, he added, "No, it's alright…I've never wanted to pass the name Snow to any child. But for the first time…I can see myself with a family. Our family."

Selene swallowed hard, tears threatening to spill over her cheeks, "I can see it, too."

A moment of silence passed.

"Maybe in another life?" Jon offered.

Selene smiled, willing the tears away with a deep breath. "Another life," she agreed. "How will we meet in this other life?"

Jon thought for a moment. "A tavern."

"A tavern?" she said, raising her brows. "What kind of respectable woman spends her time in a tavern?"

"You would be a bar maid…" Jon said with a smile. Selene laughed, truly enjoying this game now. "And I would be a village guard…"

Hours passed with them picturing their lives together. Unable to wait for her family's blessing, they would elope and run away together somewhere warm like Dorne. They would live by the ocean and never be cold again. Incapable of keeping their hands off each other, they would have six children, all with lush black curls and eyes of blue and gray.

They were laying side-by-side on their backs now, looking up at the roof of the cave, their fingers lightly intertwined.

"And then, so old we can't even leave our bed, we'll pass quietly in our sleep," Jon sighed happily.

"Sounds like quite a life."

"It will be," Jon turned to face her, studying her. "I don't ever want to leave this cave, Selene Baratheon."

"But we will, Jon Snow, and do you know why?"

Jon shook his head.

"Because that is who we are. Because it's the honorable thing to do."

Jon nodded solemnly at her words, not taking his eyes off of her. He was so close, yet their lives were about to split apart forever.

"You're the most beautiful girl in Westeros," Jon said dreamily.

Selene raised a brow, "Someone in Essos I should be worried about?"

Jon laughed. "And you're funny…Robb has always been lucky, but this is ridiculous."

It was her turn to laugh, and then her face grew serious. His eyes were like clouds on a stormy day.

"I could have loved you," Selene said softly.

Jon lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it lightly, "And I, you."

"In another life?" Selene asked hopefully.

Jon grinned. "Another life," he promised.


	10. The Wall

The Wall was too large for her eyes to comprehend what she was seeing. 

Selene stood on a terrace with Tyrion and the Lord Commander above the courtyard where the new recruits were training. Her gaze was up on the Wall, blazing blue and crystalline in the sunlight. Even after all these weeks, the sight of it sent chills down her spine. When the sun was out, the Wall was almost alive with color.

Swords sang below her. Her fingers itched to her waist, where Stormsbane hung. Tyrion advised her to control her temper here. He told her there was no honor is a master swordswoman defeating poor, untrained peasants. Selene only avoided sparring because of Jon. He was having a hard enough time without the other recruits also hating him for befriending a princess.

"Lord Snow here grew up in a castle spitting down on the likes of you," Thorne sneered as Jon disarmed another recruit. "Pyp. Do you think Ned Stark's bastard bleeds like the rest of us?"

Selene gripped the wooden railing tightly with rage.

Pyp stepped forward bravely, but after a wild swing from him and a well-placed blow from Jon, Pyp went sprawling into the dirt.

"Next!" Ser Allister called.

No matter how many men Thorne sent his way, Jon fought until the recruits, all older and bigger than him, were groaning painfully in the dirt.

"Well, Lord Snow, it appears you are the least useless person here. Go clean yourselves up! There is only so much I can stomach in a day."

Selene's eyes followed Jon as he angrily stalked off to the armory with the other recruits.

"Charming man," Tyrion observed.

"I don't need him to be charming," said Jeor Mormont. "I need him to turn this bunch of thieves and runaways into men of the Night's Watch."

"Maybe he should start by treating them like men." Selene tried and failed to hide her dislike of Thorne.

Mormont looked surprised, "I'll mention your recommendation, princess." With that, he left them.

"My dear niece, I suggest you take care how you look at Lord Snow in front of others."

"Don't call him that," Selene said heatedly. She hated that nickname. "Anyway, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Tyrion smiled, "A skilled liar, but a liar nonetheless." He waddled off.

"Where are you going?" They had been invited to ride on top of the Wall later today, but Tyrion was walking the wrong way.

"I'm going to save our friend," he gestured for her to follow. Selene frowned, and followed Tyrion across the courtyard to the armory. Men looked her up and down as she passed. She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold.

They waited outside the wooden door to the armory.

"Listen," Tyrion told her quietly. She pressed her ear gently against the door.

"You broke my nose, bastard." A voice said angrily.

A moment passed.

"It's an improvement."

Scuffling and the sound of a blade being drawn.

Selene moved to enter.

"Wait," Tyrion whispered.

"You make us look bad," another voice said.

"You looked bad before I met you," Jon quipped.

More struggling.

"The little lordling has a mouth on him," someone growled. "Is that your mother's mouth, bastard? Do you kiss your little princess with that mouth?"

Silence. Then the three boys laughed.

Selene and Tyrion exchanged a look.

"Oh, what? You think us all blind? Did you enjoy the taste of doe a few times before you arrived, Lord Snow? Maybe I'll have the royal whore myself before she heads down south and takes her sweetness with her."

Tyrion's face blackened with rage as Selene heard a crack, and a cry of pain. The sounds of slams, kicks, and grunts followed in quick succession.

Selene wasn't going to wait any longer. She swung the door open.

The boys turned to find her and Tyrion in the doorway. Two were holding Jon's arms behind his back, while the other was pressing a blade to his throat. They were all bloody and covered in dirt.

"What are you looking at, halfman?"

A blade to Jon's throat and an insult to Tyrion. Selene felt that familiar Baratheon fury rise in her chest. Her right hand flew toward her sword.

Tyrion shot her a look and she heard his voice in her head as clearly if he had said the words aloud. _Besting someone with a sword is easy, besting someone with your mind...that's true power._

Selene slowly put her hand down. Her eyes fell on the new recruits.

"We're looking at you," she said simply, answering for Tyrion. They seemed to be too scared to look her in the eyes.

"Yes," Selene continued with a small smile. "You've got an interesting face. Hmm, very distinctive faces. All of you. Wouldn't you agree, my uncle Lannister?"

"I do so agree, my dear niece," Tyrion said, not taking his eyes off them.

"And what do m'lady and m'lord care about our faces for?" said one she recognized as a rapist from the Fingers.

"It's just," Selene leaned nonchalantly against the frame of the door, "I think they would look marvelous decorating the spikes in King's Landing. Perhaps I'll write to my father the king about it? Or if he's busy my mother the queen?"

They seemed to grasp her meaning and began to begrudgingly shuffle out of the room, shooting Jon death glares as they left.

Selene continued as they left, "Or my grandfather Lord Tywin of Casterly Rock? Or my uncle Lord Renly of Storm's End?" She looked at Tyrion in wonder, "Gods, I could really go on forever, couldn't I?"

"I had that under control," Jon said bitterly as the three of them stood alone in the armory.

Tyrion snorted.

Jon was incensed, "They hate me because I'm better than them."

"No," Tyrion corrected him. "They hate you because you act like you're better than them. They look at you and see a castle-bred bastard who thinks he's a lordling. You're a bully."

Jon and Selene both gaped at him.

"Jon's no bully," she said quickly, her arms crossed over her chest.

" _Bully_? Three of them came after me."

"Three that you humiliated earlier," Tyrion pointed out. "I've watched you fight, Jon. It's not training with you. Put a good edge in your sword and they would all be dead. You don't just best them, you shame them. Does that make you proud?"

"Why shouldn't Jon be proud of his skill?" Selene asked, thinking of when Tyrion had recommended her keeping her sword to herself on the Wall.

"I know he's proud, I can see that," Tyrion turned to Jon. "And why shouldn't you be? I'm sure years of training with Winterfell's master-of-arms have served you well."

Selene saw the trap coming.

Jon stood a little taller, "They have."

"Now think on this." Tyrion looked at the door that the recruits had left from. "I'm sure none of them have ever even held a true sword before now. They've never had a knight to train them. How do your victories taste now?"

Jon was speechless. "I never…I didn't think…"

"Well, you better start," Tyrion advised as he stood by the door. "That, or sleep with a dagger by your bed." And with that he left.

Selene eyed the small stream of blood that dripped down Jon's cheek. She walked up to him.

"Here." She wiped the blood carefully with her thumb.

Jon looked ahead, his jaw set, "I should have killed them for what they said about you."

For some reason, she wasn't angry anymore, just sad. "Walk with me."

The Wall loomed large as they walked around the courtyards of Castle Black. Selene tried ignoring the heat in her fingers where they gripped Jon's arm as he dutifully led her. _I should not feel it through these thick gloves,_ she reasoned, yet that did not stop her heart from racing, or her face from pinking. 

Selene tried distracting herself. 

"Makes you wonder what lies beyond," Selene marvelled as she admired the Wall. "Tyrion says whenever one man builds a wall, the next man wants to see what's on the other side.

"It's nothing special," Jon said, but she could hear yearning in his voice. "The rangers say it's just woods and mountains and frozen lakes, with lots of snow and ice."

"Don't forget the grumkins and snarks," she added.

Jon tried to smile, but it just turned into a grimace.

"Jon, talk to me." Selene could almost see what was bothering him behind his eyes.

"I hate the name Lord Snow."

"I hate it, too." Selene thought of Tyrion, her poor uncle who was physically deformed and emotionally scarred and suddenly felt less sorry for Jon. "Would you rather be called Imp? Let them see that their words can cut you, and you'll never be free of their mockery. If they want to give you a name, take it, make it your own. Then they can't hurt you with it anymore."

Jon looked taken aback. He swallowed, "I'll try."

Selene gave him a smile and pulled gently on his arm. "Come. They'll be serving some vile stew in the common hall by now, and I could do with a bowl of something hot."

Jon returned her smile, his free hand over hers, and together they walked to the hall. The snow made everything silent, though Selene heard her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Jon's thumb was innocently stroking her gloved hand, and she wondered if he knew just how much it was making her head spin. She scolded herself for it, but that did nothing to calm her heart. 

Inside, the hall was immense and had a fire roaring in the great hearth. The room fell quiet when they entered.

"Why are they staring at us?" Selene asked Jon from the corner of her mouth.

"Not us, Selene. You."

She suddenly felt very self-conscious of what she was wearing. She was completely bundled in white furs, which made her black hair look even darker. Selene cursed herself for being stupid enough to wear white while visiting the Night's Watch and sticking out like a sore thumb. She had never been more covered, yet she never felt more exposed.

Once the brothers began speaking again, Jon and Selene accepted two small bowls of stew and pieces of bread from the cook. He gave Jon the usual ration, but served Selene the choicest piece of bread and a second spoonful of soup.

Jon noticed some recruits seated near the fire, all laughing and jesting. He looked slightly disappointed as he led her as far away as possible from the other diners. Selene sat across from him and immediately switched their dinners.

Jon tried to protest, "Selene-"

"I won't hear of it," she said, taking a small bite of stale bread. "Any small comfort I can give you, I will."

Jon looked grateful. And something else. Selene was beginning to think she understood what it meant when Tyrion slid next to her on the bench.

"Barley, onion, carrot." He sniffed his stew suspiciously. "Someone should tell the cook that turnip isn't a meat."

Jon was just about to reply, when he was interrupted.

"Snow."

The three of them turned to see Allister Thorne looking curiously at their group. Selene figured they seemed an unusual bunch.

"The Lord Commander wants to see you. Now."

Jon looked frightened. "Is it my uncle?" he blurted. "Is he returned safe?"

"The Lord Commander is not accustomed to waiting. And I am not accustomed to having my commands questioned by bastards."

"Stop it, Thorne," Tyrion said firmly. "You're frightening the boy."

"Keep out of matters that don't concern you, Lannister. You have no place here."

Selene rose. She was tired of Thorne throwing his weight around. Selene felt that familiar tug at her chest.

"He has a place at court, though. As do I." She looked at Thorne hard. "A word in the right ear and you'll die a sour old man before you get another boy to train. Now, tell Jon why the Old Bear needs to see him. Is there any news of his uncle?"

Thorne swallowed. "No. This is another matter entirely. A bird arrived this morning from Winterfell, with a message that concerns his brother…his half-brother."

"Bran," Jon breathed, shooting to his feet. "Something's happened to Bran."

Tyrion reached forward and placed a hand on his arm gently. "Jon, I am truly sorry."

Jon brushed him off and bolted out of the hall.

Selene sat down. Worry gripped her. _Seven, please._ She found herself praying. She could only imagine Jon's grief. _And Robb's._ Her stomach dropped lower.

She and Tyrion ate in silence for what felt like hours. Finally, Jon burst into the hall, his face damp with tears, but wearing the largest smile she had ever seen. He ran to their table, grabbed Tyrion, and hoisted him in a circle.

_"_ _Bran is going to live,_ " he said joyfully. Tyrion looked startled, but oddly happy. Selene stood, and Jon grabbed her around the waist and spun her, too. She couldn't help laughing.

Jon thrusted a letter into her hands. "Here, read it," he urged.

Others were gathering around, looking curiously at the bastard who was spinning dwarfs and princesses. Jon bounded up to Grenn. He moved back instinctively, "Stay away from me now, you bastard."

Jon smiled. "I'm sorry about your wrist. Robb used the same move on me once, only with a wooden blade. It hurt like seven hells, but yours must be worse. Look, if you want, I can show you how to defend that."

Thorne heard. "Lord Snow wants to take my place now. I'd have an easier time teaching a wolf to juggle than you will training this aurochs."

Jon looked thoughtful. "I'll take that wager, Ser Allister. I'd love to see Ghost juggle."

Silence fell over the hall. Until Tyrion bellowed with laughter. Selene followed shortly, hardly able to draw breath. Slowly, more and more brothers laughed until the rafters shook.

"That was a grievous error, Lord Snow," Thorne said viciously.

Selene glanced at Jon but, filled with happiness, nothing could worry him now.


	11. The Moonstone Necklace

"Are you certain that you must leave us so soon?" The Lord Commander asked Selene and Tyrion over a farewell dinner amongst other high ranking members of the Watch.

"Past certain, Lord Mormont," Tyrion assured him. "Our noble King Robert will have my hide if I keep his daughter from him for much longer. And my brother Jaime will be wondering what has become of me. He may decide that you have convinced me to take the black."

Mormont slurped crab meat that had just arrived from Eastwatch. "Castle Black is made brighter for your presence, Princess Selene, and would that I could convince you, Tyrion. You're a cunning man. We have need of men of your sort on the Wall."

Her uncle beamed. "Then I shall scour the Seven Kingdoms for dwarfs and ship them all to you."

The table laughed, except for Ser Allister.

"Lannister mocks us."

"Only you," Tyrion assured him.

"You have a bold tongue for someone who is less than half a man. Perhaps you and I should visit the yard together."

Selene gripped her fork so tightly her knuckles were white. "I will gladly fight on my uncle's behalf, Ser Allister," she said with a smile.

Every man at the table, save Tyrion, looked shocked.

"I don't think you want to do that, Thorne," Tyrion said airily. "With my niece as my champion, I'm afraid your reputation as master-at-arms would be damaged beyond repair." More laughs from the table.

"You would send a maiden to do your fighting for you?"

Tyrion looked affronted, "Not just a maiden, a warrior."

Thorne's eyes narrowed, "Come and make your japes with steel in your hand."

_If he threatens Tyrion one more time,_ Selene thought, so angry she was seeing spots. Tyrion gave her a look that said _Let me handle this._

"Why, I _have_ steel in my hand," Tyrion said pointedly, looking at the crab fork in his right hand. "Shall we duel?" He hopped on his chair and started poking Thorne in the chest with his fork, causing the room to roar with laughter. Bits of meat were flying out of the Lord Commander's mouth as he choked on crab.

Selene smirked, but she hated that Tyrion had to play the fool sometimes. She knew it was a survival tactic, learned by years of practice, but she hated it all the same.

Thorne left the room as stiffly as if he had a dagger up his arse.

Mormont cleared his throat, "Sometimes I fear Ser Allister saw you true. You do mock us and our noble pursuits."

Tyrion shrugged. "We all need to be mocked from time to time. More wine please," he said as he raised his glass.

As a man filled it, Bowen Marsh said, "You have a great thirst for a small man."

"Oh, I think Lord Tyrion is quite a large man," Maester Aemon said from the far end of the table. He spoke quietly, yet everyone strained to hear the ancient man. "I think he is a giant come among us, here at the end of the world."

Tyrion looked touched, and Selene felt her heart swell. "I've been called many things, my lord, but _giant_ is seldom one of them."

"Nonetheless," the Maester insisted, "I think it's true."

Tyrion seemed at a loss for words.

"And Princess Selene…" the maester continued. She looked into the milky eyes of the blind man and found herself holding her breath. "Such a rare flower."

"Thank you, my lord," she said gently.

Aemon wasn't finished.

"Your mother has her renowned beauty, your uncle Jaime his notorious skill with sword, and your dear uncle Tyrion his legendary wit…" Maester Aemon went on slowly, yet Selene hung on every word, "Such gifts are rare in one family, rarer still in a single person."

Selene was speechless. Tyrion grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"I imagine you have a great destiny before you."

"You are too kind, my lord, but-" Selene hesitated. "That is just my Lannister side. I am a Baratheon."

The Maester seemed to ponder this. "My dear, you must accept who you are. If you are at war within yourself, how do you expect to win the wars to come?"

Selene glanced around the table. The other lords seemed just as surprised as her.

"Is there a war coming, maester?" Tyrion asked.

"There is always a war coming," Aemon said sadly.

Selene didn't know where this was coming from, but the maester ended his thoughts there.

Much later, Selene excused herself. It was just Tyrion and the Lord Commander at that point, and she could tell the Old Bear had something he wanted to say to her uncle. She was walking back to her chambers, where Eleni was curled up by the fire as she had been throughout their stay, when she glanced up at the Wall. They were leaving tomorrow at first light with Yoren, who would be going to King's Landing for more recruits, and this could be her last chance to look off the edge of the world.

Selene walked over to the great wooden staircase that led to the top of the Wall, her legs aching at the thought. Instead, she stepped inside the iron cage beside the stairs, clambered inside, and yanked hard on the rope, three quick pulls.

She waited, freezing. Just when she thought maybe she should give up and get some sleep, she was jerked up. The cage swung a bit at first, but then the journey became smoother. She looked over at Castle Black, which seemed so small from up here. In the distance, she could see the lights of Mole's Town. Farther south she knew laid Winterfell, her future home.

Tyrion had been a bit shaken by the cage journeys over the past few weeks, but Selene loved them. If she closed her eyes, it felt like she was flying. Sometimes she pretended she was soaring on a dragon's back like in her books.

Finally, a thick voice from behind her said, "Seven hells, it's the bloody princess."

"Bring her in, hurry." There was a grunt and a loud groaning of wood as the cage slid sideways and then the Wall was beneath her. She pushed open the cage door and stepped carefully onto the Wall. A heavy figure in black said, "And what will you be wanting at this time of night, princess?"

"A last look."

The men exchanged nervous glances, "Look all you want. Just have a care you don't fall off, Your Grace. The Old Bear would have our hides."

The Wall was endless. It went farther in both directions than she could see. It was wider than the kingsroad, so she wasn't afraid of falling. The sheer size of it hushed her. The night was clear and quiet, and a light snow fell gently around her. Soft snowflakes kissed her cheeks and she giggled. She had seen more snow in the past few weeks than she had in her whole life. As she walked, the vast north to her right and the endless south to her left, she never felt so small.

"Who goes there? Halt!" A voice yelled.

Selene stopped. "If I halt too long I'll freeze in place, Jon." Ghost padded up to her and sniffed her hand. "Hello, Ghost," she said with a smile.

Jon looked bigger for all the furs he wore. The only bit of him showing was his eyes, but he yanked down the scarf covering his mouth as he recognized her. "Selene. I didn't expect to see you here."

"I didn't expect to be here," she answered, looking north. She noticed he was smiling.

"Will you walk with me?" Jon asked.

Selene was the first to break the silence, "I leave at dawn."

"I know," Jon said glumly.

"It's not too late for us to go to Dorne," she teased.

Jon laughed, but it was sad. He stopped, "By the way, I've thought of a name for our firstborn daughter."

Selene laughed. For all the dreaming they had done, with Jon not knowing who his mother was and Selene averse to the name Cersei, they had struggled to find suitable girl names. "Truly? Why?"

"Sometimes I find it difficult to sleep," Jon admitted. "Thinking about our life keeps me warm at night."

Despite the cutting wind, Selene felt a deep heat in her chest. "Alright, out with it."

"Lyanna." Jon said with a smile. Snowflakes rested gently on his lashes, and Selene thought he never looked more handsome.

She tilted her head, "Your father's sister?"

Jon nodded, "She was a famed beauty, but she was also fierce and had a touch of wolf's blood. Father says Arya reminds him of Lyanna." He gave her a side glance, "I think she would have liked you."

"It's a beautiful name," Selene agreed. "Lyanna Snow."

"No," Jon said firmly. "Where we go, there won't be surnames."

Selene felt her heart ache.

Together, they stood still on the northern side of the Wall, looking out at the forests and mountains that signalled the end of the world.

"I want to give you something," Selene said, unclasping the necklace from behind her.

"No. I can't accept-"

"Don't make me command you," Selene teased. She held out her hand so Jon could see the thin silver chain glinting in the moonlight. At the end of it was a small, silver, crescent moon, no bigger than her thumbnail. It had been a nameday gift from her father years ago, and she never took it off. _A little moon for my little moon, my Selene._

Jon's eyes widened.

"I want you to have something of me," Selene said. The words poured out, tears threatening to spill over her cheeks. "No one will understand what it means, but you will know it's me. Years will pass, but as long as you have this, know how I feel about you. When you feel hopeless and want to give up remember that you have to fight so we can meet again. When you're cold and lonely, remember that I'm out there, somewhere, thinking of you. Always."

Jon waited for her to finish. She hadn't noticed, but he had stepped forward. He grabbed her chin lightly with a gloved hand and tilted her face up to his own. He studied her, as if trying to memorize every pore on her face. His thumb rubbed the side of her chin gently.

"Thank you," Jon said softly. "Not just for the gift, but for making me feel…" He struggled to find the right words, but then he found them.

"I love you, Selene Baratheon," Jon said quietly, almost in wonder.

One tear escaped. Selene took a deep breath, "I love you too, Jon Snow."

He leaned down and kissed her. This kiss was different from the one they exchanged on the forest floor. This was softer, sweeter, full of promises that neither of them could keep.

After the kiss, they stayed wrapped in each other's arms, looking out beyond the wall. Jon had an arm over her shoulder, while Selene joined her hands around his torso. She leaned against him, and he pressed his cheek lightly on top of her head. They stood together for what seemed like hours, silent, neither of them wanting to break the spell.

It was eventually broken, however, by the sound of a gentle stream. Jon and Selene frowned at each other and turned east down the wall. Jon, hand on the black horn around his neck and ready to blow it in case of emergency, went to investigate, Selene close behind. They rounded the corner to face the back of Tyrion's cloak. He was shaking lightly.

Selene and Jon burst out laughing.

Tyrion nearly jumped out of his skin. " _Seven hells!_ What are you two doing here?"

"We should ask you the same question," Selene said pointedly between giggles, while Jon was still trying to recover.

"I told you I wanted to piss off the edge of the world," Tyrion said, adjusting his trousers.

Jon's laughter died down. "I'm sorry to see you go, Lannister," he said with a faint smile.

Selene was delighted to see Tyrion smile back, "We plan on stopping at Winterfell on the way south. If there is any message that you would like us to deliver…?"

"Tell Robb that I'm going to command the Night's Watch and keep him safe, so he might as well take up needlework with the girls and have Mikken melt down his sword for horseshoes," Jon said without hesitation.

Selene and Tyrion laughed. "Your brother is bigger than me," Tyrion reminded him. "I decline on delivering any message that might get me killed."

"Rickon will ask where I am. Try to explain if you can. Tell him he can have my things while I'm away. He'll like that."

Tyrion sighed, "You could put all this in a letter, you know?"

"And Bran…" Jon thought carefully, "Help him, Tyrion."

"What help could I give him? I am no maester, to ease his pain. I have no spells, to give him back his legs."

"You gave me help when I needed it."

Tyrion shrugged, "That was nothing. Words."

"Then give your words to Bran, too." Jon said.

Tyrion looked thoughtful, "I know what it is to love a brother, Snow. I'll do what little I can."

"Thank you, my lord of Lannister," Jon pulled off his glove and held out his hand. "Friend."

Tyrion wore a small, humble smile as he shook Jon's hand firmly, and Selene could tell he was moved.

"I'm going to go to bed," Tyrion announced as he walked passed them, "and if you two are smart, you will too."

Selene took Jon's hand in her own. "My dear uncle, you should know by now," she said grandly, looking from Tyrion to Jon and back again. "We're not very smart."

Tyrion and Jon laughed. Her uncle's eyes seemed sad as he looked between Jon and Selene.

"You two should know, I'm sorry for the way things are," Tyrion said softly. "The gods can be cruel."

Selene and Jon exchanged a look, Tyrion's words resonating between them.

"Your children would have been gorgeous," Tyrion added on afterthought.

###

The next morning, Selene mounted Thunder in the great courtyard of Castle Black. Eleni was restless by her side, more than ready to go back to the warmth of the south.

The rest of their small party, some Lannister men and Yoren, were ready to go. They were only waiting for her.

Lord Commander Mormont walked up to Thunder.

"It was a pleasure, princess," Jeor said with a warm smile. "Please return anytime you wish."

Selene looked down at Mormont. He was once the Lord of Bear Island, his sister was now its lady. His house had been sworn to the Starks for centuries, and soon she herself would become a Stark.

"Thank you, my lord. I will not forget the kindness the Night's Watch has shown me and my uncle. When I am Lady Stark, I will do my best to repay some of that kindness. I may be a southerner, but I hope to do the north proud."

Lord Mormont looked impressed. "My lady," he said reverently, "when I first heard we were expecting a southern princess, frankly, I didn't know what to expect. But now...you may have southern blood, but you've got northern spirit. I believe one day you will be well loved by every northerner."

Selene felt a swell of pride. She nodded to the Lord Commander and spurred Thunder forward, waiting with the rest of the party for the gates to open.

Tyrion's horse pulled up beside her.

Selene looked back. She couldn't help herself. There he was, standing on the terrace opposite the gates, eyes fixed on her. He was wearing the thick cloak that she had returned to him last night. Even from this distance, she could see the sunlight glint off the silver chain he wore around his neck. Jon looked so handsome, standing there tall and proud and all in black. He was a survivor, and they would see each other again one day, she felt it in her bones. He was giving her the look he'd been giving her for weeks. The one she had found difficult to place. Now it was so obvious, she can't believe it took her this long to see.

Tyrion spoke at her side, "Do you understand it now?"

Selene nearly choked on her words, and at the thought that she was giving the same look back.

"It's love."


	12. Broken Things

Selene Baratheon was silent the entire journey to Winterfell.

Tyrion tried to lift her spirits, to make her laugh. He did anything he could possibly do to make her smile, but smiling wasn't something Selene could do. Jon was alive, yet she felt like she was grieving. Perhaps she was grieving the life she could never have and the boy she could never be with.

The weeks passed slowly. Eleni curled up against her at night and Selene would bury her face in the lion's soft, pale gold coat. Eleni's warmth was the only thing that could make her sleep.

As they finally approached Winterfell, Selene was beginning to feel nauseous. She had to look Robb, her future husband, in the eyes after everything her and Jon had just been through. Her heart ached at the thought of putting Jon aside.

Despite herself, a part of her was excited to see Robb. Jon had been a dream, but it was time to wake up. Robb was her future. Selene thought of how perfectly they had danced together. She remembered how he had kissed her softly the night of the welcome feast. Selene couldn't help feeling in higher spirits as they approached the gates of Winterfell.

They were dismounting at the great courtyard when she frowned. Robb should have met her here. They were greeted curtly by Theon Greyjoy. She could feel in her gut that something wasn't right.

Tyrion spoke to Greyjoy, "I wish to speak with Bran Stark."

Theon sneered, "The little lord is resting."

"It concerns his brother, Jon," Tyrion stressed.

"We shall see."

Tyrion shot Selene a glance as they were led into the Great Hall.

Robb sat in Lord Stark's high seat, wearing ringmail, boiled leathers, and a stern face. A dozen guardsmen lined the grey stone walls. Grey Wind laid by Robb's feet and his head perked up when he smelled Eleni. Maester Luwin sat at Robb's right. Shockingly, Robb's sword lay across his knees, unsheathed for the world to see. The whole realm knew what it meant to greet guests with an unsheathed sword.

Selene gaped disbelievingly. Robb avoided her gaze.

"I must say we received a slightly warmer welcome on our last visit," Tyrion admitted.

"Any man of the Night's Watch is welcome at Winterfell," Robb said with a nod at Yoren.

"Any many of the Night's Watch, but not us, eh boy?" Tyrion said pointedly.

Robb's lip curled, "I'm not your boy, Lannister. I'm Lord of Winterfell while my father is away."

"Then you might learn a lord's courtesy," Selene said acidly.

Robb didn't seem to hear her, but kept his eyes on Tyrion.

"Your bastard brother has all your father's graces, it would seem," Tyrion remarked.

The door opened behind them, and Tyrion and Selene turned to see Bran being carried in the arms of a giant man.

"So it's true, the boy lives," Tyrion said softly. "I can scarce believe it. You Starks are hard to kill."

"You Lannisters had best remember that," Robb said darkly.

Selene rounded on him, "Pardon me, _my lord_ , but could you perhaps explain what my uncle and I have done to offend you?"

"You could never offend me, my dear lady," Robb said surely to her. His eyes turned cold when they settled on Tyrion.

"Hello, Bran," Tyrion said as Hodor walked up to them. "I hear you're quite the climber. Do you remember anything? About what happened the day you fell?"

"I _never_ fall," Bran insisted fervently.

"He has no memory of that day," Maester Luwin said from the dais.

"Curious," Tyrion mumbled.

Selene frowned. She recognized that face. Tyrion was deep in thought.

" _Why_ are you here, Lannister?" Robb asked.

Tyrion chose to ignore him, but Selene could not.

"I'm sure your lordship will find that my uncle, the queen's own brother, is here with me, the _future Lady of Winterfell_ ," Selene said angrily. "Now, I kindly ask that he be given basic courtesy and respect, as befitting his rank and you're _supposed_ honour."

Robb tried and failed to fight his blush of embarrassment.

"Would your charming companion be so kind as to kneel?" Tyrion said to Bran. "My neck is beginning to hurt."

"Kneel, Hodor," Bran said monotonously.

"I have a gift for you," Tyrion reached into his cloak. "Do you like to ride, Bran?"

"Yes," Bran's face lit up, until he remembered. "Well, I mean I _used_ to."

"The boy's lost the use of his legs," Luwin said.

"What of it?" Tyrion countered. "With the right horse and saddle even a cripple can ride."

Poor Bran looked tearful, "I am _not_ a cripple."

"Then I am not a dwarf," Tyrion said in astonishment. "My father will rejoice to hear it." Greyjoy laughed, and even Bran cracked a smile. Tyrion handed Bran a piece of parchment.

"Give that to your saddler, he'll provide the rest," Tyrion said as Bran unrolled the parchment. On it was a series of designs Tyrion had drawn on their way to Winterfell. "You must shape the horse to the rider. Start with a yearling, and teach it to respond to the reigns and the boy's voice."

"Will I truly be able to ride?" Bran said hopefully, not wishing to believe it. The look on his face nearly broke Selene's heart.

"You will," Tyrion said kindly, "and I swear to you, boy, on horseback you'll be as tall as any of them."

"Is this some kind of trick?" Robb seemed confused. "What is Bran to you? Why do you want to help him?"

Selene was just about to respond when Tyrion jumped in, "Your brother Jon asked it of me. I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things." Tyrion turned back to Bran and smiled fondly.

The door to the yard flew open. Sunlight streamed into the hall with Rickon, who came in breathless. The other direwolves were with him. Summer and Shaggydog's eyes landed on Tyrion and Selene, and they began to growl and pad closer to them, one from the left, one from the right.

"The wolves don't seem to like the scent of Lannister," Greyjoy said with a smile.

"Perhaps it's time we take our leave," Tyrion said, backing up. Grey Wind came out from under Robb's shadow behind him and snapped his jaws.

Selene drew her sword while Eleni shielded Tyrion with the length of her body. Eleni gave a warning roar to the direwolves. They stopped advancing, but continued to circle.

" _No,_ " Bran said. "Summer, _here._ Summer, to me." Summer kept his eyes on Tyrion, but padded to Bran's side.

Robb had been holding his breath. "Grey Wind."

Only Shaggydog was left, snarling.

"Rickon, call him," Bran ordered.

Little Rickon seemed to remember, "Home, Shaggydog, home now." With one last snap in the air, the black wolf joined his young master at the end of the hall.

Selene's heart was pounding out of her chest.

Tyrion wiped his brow with his scarf, "How interesting."

"Are you well, my lord? Princess?" One of their Lannister men asked.

Tyrion nodded, but Selene looked back at Robb.

"Were you waiting for them to tear us apart before calling them to heel?" she asked furiously.

Tyrion spoke, "No doubt they mistook me for dinner." He gave a small bow to Bran, "And now we will take our leave."

"Wait," Robb said, sheathed his sword and looked uncomfortable. Selene's eyes bored into him. "You have done my brother a kindness. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours."

"Spare us your false courtesies, Lord Stark," Selene said firmly. "You have no love for my uncle, and therefore no love for me. We will find accommodation elsewhere." With that she turned to leave the hall.

"Princess Selene...wait!" Robb called. She could hear the worry in his voice. Even though he remained seated, she knew Robb Stark was begging.

Tyrion eyed her. "Give him a chance to explain himself," he advised under his breath. "You have to marry him. Get used to listening."

Selene nodded.

Robb sighed in relief. "I would speak with the princess, alone."

The rest of the hall bowed their heads to Robb and Selene and left, until it was just them, Grey Wind, and Eleni.

Robb walked over to her, "Selene-" he put his hand gently on her arm. She whipped it away.

"Don't _touch_ me," she said through gritted teeth.

Robb looked like he was in agony. _Good,_ Selene thought. It was easier to be angry than hurt.

"You have one minute to explain why you've treated us with such disdain."

"Not _you,"_ Robb insisted, eyeing the door where Tyrion left. "Just him."

Selene crossed her arms over her chest. "He is my dear uncle, and I love him more than words can express," she said fiercely. "Any insult to him is an insult to me. I can't fathom why you would treat a member of my family this way."

Robb bit his lip, looking like he wanted to confide in her. He didn't speak.

"I'm taking my leave."

"Wait," Robb cut her off, standing in front of her with his hands held up. She narrowed her eyes. "You are to be my lady wife and I don't want secrets between us. I will tell you why, but you must swear not tell _anyone._ Not even your uncle."

"I swear on my brother Joffrey's life."

Robb rolled his eyes, "On something you actually care about."

Selene sighed, "I swear on the honour of my house."

Robb seemed satisfied. "Bran didn't fall," he whispered. "He was pushed."

Selene swayed where she stood. "How do you know?"

"An assassin tried to kill him in the night after he woke," Robb said quickly. "If it wasn't for Summer…"

"Wait," Selene held up her hand, "and you accuse _Tyrion_?" she said incredulously.

Robb shook his head. "We're not sure who, but whoever it was is rich enough to afford a Valyrian steel dagger. Just look at the way the direwolves reacted to him!"

Selene sighed, but Robb spoke, "Can you honestly look me in the eye and assure me no one in your family is capable of this?" He met her gaze levelly.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Joffrey would do it gladly. If Jaime or her mother had to, they would.

"I can't," Selene said finally. "Frankly, Tyrion is the only person in my family _incapable_ of this. You have to believe me. He's innocent," she pleaded with him.

Robb held her gaze, biting his lip thoughtfully. He finally nodded, "I believe you."

"Good. Now I must go."

"Won't you stay?" Robb begged, "Please, I'm sorry." When Selene didn't stop he said, "I'm scared for Bran."

Selene froze. Lord Robb had let his guard down and looked more his age. He was so young, like her. The weight of the world was on his shoulders, and it was crushing him.

Tears filled his eyes, "I just want to keep my family safe." It came out almost like a whisper.

Selene walked up to him slowly. " _I_ am to be your family soon," she said softly, taking both his hands in her own. "You have to learn to trust me."

"I know, I know," Robb swallowed, staring at his boots.

"And if I do find out that someone in my family is responsible, I'll see that justice is served myself."

Robb looked surprised, "You would do that? Betray your own family?"

Selene shook her head, "That person betrayed me the moment they harmed my future family. I will never be blindly loyal to anyone."

Robb sighed, "I should have trusted you."

"Yes, you should have," Selene said sadly. She walked past him and hesitated at the door.

"You won't stay." Robb wasn't asking.

Selene shook her head, "I have work to do in King's Landing."

"I hope next time we meet under happier circumstances."

 _The next time I see him will be our wedding_ _day_ , Selene thought as she looked at Robb. He had been so carefree the last time she had seen him. Now he was burdened with the lordship of Winterfell and the wellbeing of his family. He put on a brave face but, like her, deep down he was scared of failing.

Selene gave him a nod and left the hall.

###

Selene walked into the brothel with her head held high. The madame of the establishment, a busty woman in a large red dress, looked surprised.

"May I help you, my lady?" The madame took one look at her and gave her this address, though she didn't know her.

"Take me to Tyrion Lannister."

The woman looked uncomfortable, "Apologies, my lady, but Lord Tyrion is preoccupied-"

Selene slammed her hand on the table. The woman jumped. "I need to see him now. It's urgent." Tyrion would have scolded her for using force instead of wit, but she was growing impatient.

The madame bristled, "Follow me," she said as she led Selene down corridors of closed doors. Moans and grunts, both male and female, pierced the air. Selene fought a blush. She was a descendant of storm kings. She was the storm, the fury. Selene couldn't let sex disconcert her. Finally, she reached a door at the end of the hallway. The woman in red nodded, and with a swirl of her skirts left Selene. Thankfully, all she heard from inside were voices in conversation.

Selene took a deep breath, and swung the door open. She strode in, but kept her eyes down to her boots respectfully.

" _Seven hells,"_ Tyrion said in surprise. "I arranged more suitable accommodation for you next door."

"Is this the princess?" Selene heard a female voice ask sweetly.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion, uncle," she kept her eyes on the floor and felt the heat rise in her cheeks. "This is important."

Tyrion sighed, "As you wish. Give us a moment, Ros."

The whore stood and walked slowly toward the door, as naked as her first nameday.

Selene kept her eyes glued to the floor.

"Too afraid to look?" Ros teased, enunciating every syllable.

Selene raised her eyes slowly. Ros had fiery red hair that curled down to her naval, sultry brown eyes, a slender waist, and plump breasts. Selene had never seen a naked woman before, save herself. She wasn't going to let a whore know that sex unsettled her. Selene met her eyes with steel.

"Good," Ros said approvingly. "Wow…" she said under her breath, eyes sweeping Selene's face. "If you ever grow tired of being a princess, do let me know." And with a wicked smile, she left.

"What is so urgent it couldn't wait two minutes?" Tyrion said, his hair dishevelled and his trousers the only clothing he wore.

Selene couldn't help herself, "Only two?"

Tyrion sighed as he stood and poured himself some wine, "I suppose I fell into that one." He handed her a goblet, "What's the matter?"

Selene took a small sip, tapping the side of the goblet with her index finger thoughtfully. She swore to Robb that she wouldn't tell Tyrion of his suspicions, and she wouldn't.

"How do you think Bran fell?"

Tyrion eyed her. His mismatched eyes never unsettled her until right now, as she felt them pick her apart.

"I think it a terrible tragedy."

"But no accident?"

"Who would ever do something so terrible?" Tyrion said thoughtfully, but his eyes...

Selene growled, "I grow tired of this mummer's show, Tyrion. Speak plainly." When he hesitated she added, "Do you not trust me?" The thought alone broke her heart.

Tyrion put down the goblet, walked to her, and took her hands in his own. She knelt so his face was above hers.

"Of course I do, my dear niece," Tyrion said fondly, holding her cheek gently with one of his hands. "There is perhaps no one in the world I trust as much as you, but you will need to get used to playing the mummer's show in Kings Landing. I fear troubled times lay before us."

"What troubled times? What does this have to do with Bran's fall?

Tyrion's eyes seemed far away, "Everything. Didn't you find it odd that Lady Catelyn didn't welcome us herself?"

"I didn't even think-"

"You had better start," Tyrion said. "I fear Maester Aemon was right. There is a war coming. I don't know when. I don't know what sides we'll be on, but know this..." He looked her dead in the eyes.

"I will never be against you," Tyrion said fervently.

Tears filled her eyes, "Nor I, you."

Tyrion's eyes looked wet, "My brave lioness…"

Selene didn't correct him. Only one person in all the world could call her a lion, and it was Tyrion.

She stood.

"Must you journey to Kings Landing right away?"

Selene nodded, "It seems there's more work to be done than I thought." With that, she gave her uncle a kiss on the cheek, and left.


	13. The Realm's Delight

Selene rode Thunder as hard as she could without hurting him. Tyrion had insisted she take one of the Lannister men with her for protection, so her small party was herself, Eleni, and some Lannister knight. He struggled to keep up with her.

"Princess…" he would say between pants, "the horses need rest…"

"Maybe your horse," Selene had said confidently. Thunder was happiest at a full gallop, she could feel it. He had been a gift from her Uncle Renly on her tenth nameday. He was a courser, swift and strong, and his breed was the pride of the stormlands.

Selene's mind was restless the whole journey south, full of flashing images. Bran's crippled body in the arms of Hodor. Robb's face as he told her of his suspicions. Jon's eyes as he stood on that terrace the last time she had seen him. Old Maester Aemon's milky eyes as he predicted war.

As Selene scratched Eleni's ears by the fire one night, she forced herself to remember happier times. She thought of the day she had rescued Eleni.

Selene had been out hunting with her father. Cersei was against it, which was a surefire way to guarantee Robert taking his eldest daughter. She was only nine years old at the time, yet oddly sure on a horse. She was already a year into her sword training, but her archery still needed work. She had missed every shot. After hours of that, she had dismounted her horse tearfully and ran into the kingswood.

_"Princess!" Ser Barristan chased after her. He found her curled up by a stream, sobbing._

_"Why are you crying, princess?" Selmy asked._

_"I-I'm-terrible," she said miserably. "Father must be so ashamed." That thought made her cry harder._

_"No," Ser Barristan wrapped his snow-white cloak around her shoulders and knelt by her side. "Dear Selene, you are just a child. Your father doesn't expect you to be a master archer at nine. Besides," his eyes were kind as they met her own, "your skill with sword is improving greatly."_

_Selene sniffled, "Truly?"_

_Barristan nodded, beaming with pride, "I expect mastery by four and ten."_

_Selene smiled, and then she heard it. A high pitched squeak._

_"What was that?" she asked curiously, her tears forgotten._

_Ser Barristan stood, drawing his sword. "If it's what I think it is, then the mother is close behind. We need to leave."_

_Again, a high pitched squeak. Almost like a call for help. Then, from behind a tree, the most beautiful lion cub came bounding toward them._

_Selene gasped._

_Ser Barristan picked her up in one smooth motion, "We need to leave."_

_Selene struggled, "No, wait! She's lost!" Selmy wasn't listening, so she kicked at him. With a grunt, his gripped loosened, and she shimmied out his arms, running up to the lion cub and kneeling._

_The cub looked at her curiously, her large brown eyes like honey in the sunlight, her coat a pale gold._

_"Princess…" Ser Barristan said testily from behind her. "The mother must be close. You're in danger."_

_Selene didn't feel like she was in danger. She held out her hand. The cub sniffed it for what seemed like ages. Finally, the little lion gave her fingers a lick. Her tongue tickled, and Selene giggled._

_"Seven hells," Selmy breathed. "Come now, Selene."_

_Selene stood and walked to Ser Barristan, the cub following. Selmy's eyes narrowed. They walked to rejoin the party, the cub at their heels._

_"I'm going to name her Eleni!" Selene cried joyously. Her favorite story was of Eleni, her ancient ancestor, a daughter of the sea god and wind goddess. The first storm king Durran fell in love with her, and she gave up her immortality to be with him. The gods, in a rage, sent an eternal storm to destroy Durran's keep, but with the help of Bran the Builder, his seventh attempt, Storm's End, withstood the rage of Eleni's parents. Selene never felt prouder to be a Baratheon than when listening to that story._

_Selmy was sad, "A beautiful name, princess, but the king will never allow you to keep a lion as a pet."_

_"Not a pet," The princess insisted. "A friend." Selene didn't any of those._

_Her father was standing mightily beside his destrier when they approached the party. King Robert was slimmer then, his great black beard dark. He held a crossbow, his war hammer slung at his hip. His eyes met Selmy's._

_"Where has my daughter been?"_

_Ser Barristan swallowed, "She ran into the Kingswood, Your Grace. I went in after her. And now…"_

_King Robert's eyes landed on the cub. "What in seven hells is that thing doing so close to Selene?"_

_The cub was right behind her. Selene fell to her knees as the cub launched at her, licking her face. She laughed happily at that._

_"The cub seems to have imprinted on the princess," Ser Barristan said._

_Her Uncle Renly laughed from atop his horse. "Well, she may just have some Lannister blood in her after all."_

_Renly liked to joke that Selene didn't show any signs of being her mother's child. It was oddly disconcerting how purely Baratheon her colouring was._

_Selene looked up at her laughing uncle to see her own deep blue eyes reflected back at her._

_"I see her mother in her, my lord," Ser Barristan said politely. He was her defender. Her sworn shield._

_"First sword training and now a lion," Robert boomed. "I allow you too much freedom."_

_"Father, I've named her Eleni."_

_Robert softened at that. He seemed to think on it._

_"It will surely send Cersei into a rage…" Renly warned in a voice that made plain he would like nothing more._

_That was all the king needed to here._

_"Bring the damn cat," her father conceded._

_Selene jumped to her feet and threw herself into her father's arms, showering him with kisses._

_Robert laughed, "Easy, girl. That thing is your responsibility. If it bites anyone, you pay for it."_

_"She won't, she won't," Selene had promised. She would never forget her mother's look of loathing or Joffrey's envy when they first set eyes on Eleni._

Selene was stirred from her memory when the lioness jumped to her feet with a grunt. In a daze, Selene stood and drew her sword. The horses brayed nervously from behind the trees they were tied to. The knight was slow to rise.

"Wha…?" He said groggily.

Selene shushed him. Then she heard it.

Growling.

The pack's circle closed around them. Eleni let out a warning roar. The wolves seemed to back off, except one. This she-wolf came right up to the lioness. The two beasts circled each other. Selene's sword arm was poised and ready. The she-wolf was different from the others, her snout strangely elongated.

Selene nearly slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand when it hit her.

How could she not recognize a direwolf by now?

"St-stay back, princess," The Lannister knight was almost shitting himself, and his moves were too sudden.

The wolves snapped at him.

" _Stop. Moving,"_ Selene hissed under her breath. The knight froze.

"Lady?" Selene asked incredulously. No, from what she remembered, Lady was smaller and had lighter fur.

"Nymeria?"

The she-wolf turned her attention to Selene. She wondered if Nymeria could smell Ghost or Grey Wind on her. The wolf's dark golden eyes blazed like a fire in the night. Finally, Nymeria came up from her crouch, gave her an almost reproachful look, and padded off. The other wolves followed.

Selene only relaxed when Eleni did.

The weeks passed quickly. Selene didn't let herself dwell on Jon, Robb, or the potential murderer in her family. All she could think of was war. Tyrion was the wisest person she knew. If he believed war was eminent, then it must be. But whose side would she be on?

 _I'm Baratheon,_ she thought fiercely, _through and through._ Her loyalties lied there first, but what if she had to fight the Starks? _Father would never take up arms against his closest friend._ Selene comforted herself with that. Her mind was swimming with endless gruesome scenarios as she approached King's Landing.

Selene was surprised to see grand pavilions being set up outside the city walls, and then she was less surprised. Her father loved the blood and gore of tourneys. No doubt he had set this one as a celebration of Ned's arrival to the capital. As she approached the gates, Selene placed her coronet surely on her head, so the City Watch and smallfolk would know her.

Her coronet was beautifully crafted. A slender piece of silver that wrapped around her head, the crown had small, thin antlers protruding on all sides. In the center of her forehead was a moonstone, carved into the shape of a crescent moon. She remembered how jealous Joffrey had been when her father presented them with with their crowns. His was a simple gold band, shiny, but plain. Hers had the Baratheon antlers and the silver moon of her name. There was no denying who their father loved best. She would have felt sorry for Joffrey, had he deserved it.

"Halt! Who goes there?" A gold cloak yelled from the city walls.

"Selene of House Baratheon, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms," The knight at her side said grandly.

Eleni let out a roar, another sure sign of her identity. The people of the realm knew the princess's beast.

The guards were quick to open the Iron Gate.

Selene entered the city that gave her birth. Full of its usual smells and sounds, she heard the banging of blacksmith's hammers and the bartering of merchants. She heard the laugher of children as they ran through the streets, stealing sweets from carts.

At her arrival, the noise shifted.

People looked at her with curious expressions; they're eyes casting nervous glances at Eleni.

Selene sat straight and tall in her saddle, her coronet glinting in the sun, her black silk tunic falling around her.

"All hail, Princess Selene!" The Lannister knight cried. There was silence. It had been a while since she walked amongst the people.

Selene noticed a large stand brimming with freshly baked bread by Thunder's side.

"Baker," she called. "I will purchase the entirety of your wares."

The baker, a portly man, looked up at her in shock. "P-princess?"

"Distribute it evenly amongst the people in the street," Selene said with a smile. As the commonfolk murmured excitedly, she added, "Feed the hungriest first. This knight will see that you are duly paid."

"Thank you, princess!" The baker shouted, bowing quickly several times as she wrapped Thunder's reigns around her wrist and urged him forward.

The people of the street began to cheer, "Selene!" "All hail the princess!" "Thank you!" "Long live Selene!"

As their shouts pierced the air, Selene knew she had won their love once more. The people's adoration was fickle; she had to constantly vie for it. However, it was as priceless as gold, and she knew she had to win it repeatedly to keep it.

Selene Baratheon rode through the streets of her city, eyes up on the Red Keep, with a sinking suspicion that her old home held nothing but danger for her now.


	14. You're Better Company

Lori ran a comb through Selene's hair as she sat in the bath. Her maid was telling of all that transpired on the kingsroad between the Starks and the Lannisters. Saddest of all, the deaths of Lady and the butcher's boy. It explained why Selene had found Nymeria in the wild and not with Arya.

"It was simply a misunderstanding," Lori finished. "Nothing to worry about, princess." But Selene did worry. It seemed like the beginning of something terrible. A war between wolves and lions, like in her dreams. She shivered in her warm bath.

Dressed in a long wispy gown of bright yellow, Selene went to see her father. The end of her dress flurried behind her as she strode to the king's chambers. After the months she had spent in the north, the heat of the Red Keep was sweltering. Selene rounded the corner and saw her uncle on duty.

Ser Jaime Lannister stood tall in his white cloak and golden armor, its white enamel shining in the light of the hall. His eyes flashed when he saw her. If circumstances were different, Selene may have called it warmth, but warmth was not something Jaime Lannister was capable of. Not toward her, at least.

"Niece," Jaime said, "you've returned from your travels. And Tyrion?"

If Jaime possessed one positive attribute, it was the love he bore Tyrion. Sometimes it felt like they were the only two people in the world who cared for him.

"I rode ahead. He's probably in the riverlands by now. Is my father free to see me?" As she walked closer, Selene heard strange noises from inside Robert's chambers. Brothel noises.

Jaime raised his brows, "Your noble father is a bit…preoccupied at the moment." His eyes laughed at her.

Selene felt her cheeks reddening, but swallowed her anger. "I see."

"He likes to do this when I'm on duty," Jamie said in a low voice. "Makes me listen as he insults my sister. Your mother."

Words to defend her father rose quickly, but died on her lips.

The door opened slightly. A slender young girl, whose dress and hair were loose, looked back and forth between the Kingslayer and the princess. Her eyes were wide as she dashed down the hall.

Jamie was grinning at Selene.

Her blood boiled, "Be a good guard and let me know when he's available." She went to leave.

"Shouldn't be too long," Jaime called at her back, mocking.

Seething, Selene remembered the real reason why she was in King's Landing. Robb may have teased her for it, but she meant what she said about keeping an eye out for Ned Stark. He was a good and honest man amongst liars and turncoats. He needed her, whether he knew it or not.

As Selene climbed the steps of the Tower of the Hand, she ran into Arya, balancing on one toe at the top of the staircase.

"Careful!" she warned, worried that young Arya would hurt herself on the fall.

Arya's face was fearless. "I'm not afraid," she said stubbornly.

"Of course you're not," Selene smiled. Arya reminded her so much of herself it was frightening. "Is your father in?"

Arya nodded, but then Selene remembered.

"Nymeria is doing well, by the way."

Little Arya lowered her leg slowly to the ground and looked up at her, tears in her eyes.

"What? How d'you know that?" she whispered.

"I saw her myself in the riverlands," Selene said surely, placing her hands on her knees so she could look Arya in the eye. "She's the alpha of her pack." Arya looked proud at that. "I'm sorry you had to leave her behind."

"It was for her own good!" Arya stressed.

Selene nodded solemnly, "I know."

Arya's eyes searched Selene. "You're not like the others," she said with the blunt honesty of a child.

"The other what?"

"Lannisters."

Selene rustled Arya's hair, the way Jon told her he used to. "That's because I'm not."

Arya smiled, bounding down the stairs to leave when she looked over her shoulder.

"Thank you," she said gratefully.

Selene's brows furrowed, "For what?"

"For fighting," Arya said excitedly. "Because of you, Father's letting me learn to water dance."

Selene knew water dancing was what the Braavosi called swordsmanship. She beamed at Arya as the wild girl ran away.

Smiling, Selene faced the northman at the Hand's door, a young man with shoulder length shaggy black hair. She couldn't remember the man's name, but she knew he was the captain of Ned's guard.

"I would speak with the Hand."

The guard nodded, entered the room, and announced her.

"Bring the princess in," She heard Lord Stark's voice from inside. "Thank you, Jory."

Selene stepped into his outer chambers, where the Hand's office was. She'd been here many times, but it was strange seeing Ned in Jon Arryn's chair. Lord Arryn had always been kind to her, and was the only person in the Seven Kingdoms who could reason with her tempestuous father.

Ned was reading a large tome.

Selene frowned when she recognized it.

Lord Stark followed her gaze, "Have you read this before, princess?"

"Only certain sections." It was a book about the Great Houses and their families, and she had read the Baratheon and Lannister pages endlessly. She was in the book, and it was fascinating to see her name written in such a large book. "Lord Arryn was reading it before he died."

Ned froze, grey eyes scanning her carefully. It was unsettling how much he looked like an older Jon Snow.

"Do you know why, Your Grace?" he asked cautiously. 

Selene frowned, "He said he was looking for something important. He said it would affect me most of all _."_ She remembered the manic look in Arryn's eyes as he said it to her. Grand Maester Pycelle had given him milk of the poppy to calm him.

Ned looked back at the book like it was the most important text in the realm, as if it held answers to questions he did not know how to ask.

"Why are you reading it, my lord?"

"I just want to know how my dear friend spent his last days," Ned said surely. There was truth in that, but Selene felt there was something more.

"Did you enjoy your time in the north, princess? Were you able to pass by Winterfell again on your way south from the Wall?" Ned asked politely.

"Yes and yes, my lord. The north is a beautiful place. The Wall was incredible, and Robb and Jon…" she paused for a moment. "You've raised two honorable young men." He looked at her in surprise. She could tell he wasn't used to being praised for Jon. He nodded at her.

"Thank you, princess. I'm glad you'll be the one sitting at Robb's side one day."

Selene smiled, "As am I." She looked back at the book, and the guarded look Ned wore. "My lord, if you need any assistance while in the capital…with anything at all…I would be more than happy to help. Lord Arryn, may the gods keep him, was always kind to me. A wise man, gone before his time." She took a deep breath, "I look forward to seeing you at your tournament."

"Putting my name on the tourney doesn't make it mine."

"Forgive me, my lord, I thought you would be pleased. I'm sure my father only means to honor you."

"Aye, princess. It is I who should ask forgiveness." Ned Stark rubbed his face for a moment in weariness. "I'm not accustomed to this heat."

Selene smiled at her future good father. Being this far south was torture for him. "I look forward to the cool days and cold nights of the north once I'm there."

Ned smiled at her, "For that, princess, I envy you. If you'll excuse me, I have work to do." He gestured down to the book.

_Yes, work,_ Selene thought to herself as she gave him a deep bow, _b_ _ut what kind?_

###

Princess Selene sat tall and proud beside Joffrey on the upper dais, looking down upon the tourney field, Eleni lying lazily at her feet. Tommen and Myrcella sat opposite them, while the king and queen sat on ornamental chairs a few steps higher. The royal family all wore their crowns. Selene and her father wore yellow and black, while Cersei, Joffrey, Mrycella, and Tommen wore crimson and gold.

Selene saw Sansa Stark glancing at Joffrey repeatedly while they waited for the jousting to begin. Joffrey avoided her gaze.

"You should be kind to her," Selene said, not looking at her brother.

Joffrey scoffed, "I don't want to marry her."

"You'll do as you're told," Selene turned and met his green eyes with her own. There was nothing but contempt there.

"You do not command me," the crown prince said angrily.

"You're right. I don't," Selene's voice was ice, "but father does."

The corner of his lip rose in disgust as Joffrey turned his attention back to the pitch.

King Robert stood, holding his flagon of wine. "I've been sitting here for days. Start the damn joust before I piss myself."

The people laughed and cheered, but her mother's face was stone as she stood and left the dais.

The king noticed the empty chair, but didn't seem to care.

"Selene!" he called, gesturing toward the seat beside him.

Selene stood uncertainly and walked up the steps to her father. "My king, that seat is meant for the queen," she reminded him.

"You're better company."

Selene sat slowly in the chair, beaming. She may not have her mother's love, but she had her father's.

Ser Barristan shot her a smile from his post beside the dais.

Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Hugh of the Vale rode up the royal dais to pay their respects to the king. Ser Gregor was a mountain of a man, dressed heel to toe in black armor. Only his large destrier, with the Clegane colors emblazoned on a cloak on his rear, was big enough to carry him. By comparison, Ser Hugh seemed slight, with his silver armor gleaming in the sunlight, new and untested. The proud sigil of House Arryn decorated his shield.

The king grunted, "A green knight versus the Mountain the Rides. Place your bets, Selene."

"Father, it is discourteous to gamble. I was raised better."

A moment passed.

"50 gold dragons on the Mountain."

Her father's laughter boomed over the pitch as the fighters took their positions. After a tense moment, the knights kicked their heels into their horses. The horse's thundered toward each other and the entire pitch held their breaths as the lances levelled. At the last moment, Ser Hugh raised his lance as Clegane's bounced off of Hugh's arm plate. Selene let out a breath as the knights turned and charged once more. This time Clegane's lance did more than just scrape Ser Hugh. The lance splintered into his neck, blood splurting out violently.

Selene heard screaming as she and her father shot up from their seats to see Ser Hugh hit the ground. He choked violently on his own blood as a giant splinter stuck out of his neck. He clawed at his neck in vain, until finally he stopped twitching and was still. Men dragged the body away. Selene eyed the Hound as he glared at the Mountain. She shivered as she remembered the gruesome history between those two brutal brothers. The Mountain had thrust his little brother's face into the flames as a child and, judging by the look on the Hound's face, the years had not quelled the rage.

"The tournament will continue on the morrow," Robert announced. His eyes flickered to Selene. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

Selene swallowed. She had seen men injured in tourneys before, but never die. It unsettled her, but not as much as the fascinated look on Joffrey's face.

She gave her father a weak nod, before rushing to Myrcella and Tommen where they sat, holding them close and hushing their cries, praying this would be the last blood and violence they would ever have to see. 


	15. Who Holds The Straws?

_My Dearest, Jon..._

Selene stared at the parchment, quill gripped tight in her hand. She crumpled up the paper with a resigned sigh and threw it into the hearth. As the flames blackened her letter, tears brimmed in her eyes.

That greeting alone could cause her trouble. There was only one reason a highborn girl would write such a letter to a bastard a thousand leagues away, and in the wrong hands it could be used against her. Her honor could be in question, and Selene couldn't risk it. All she wanted to do was let Jon know she was thinking of him.

Selene instinctually grabbed at her neck for her moonstone necklace, forgetting that she had gifted it to him. She hoped the slim silver chain would be enough to lift his spirits. She reread the letter that had arrived for her that day. Robb had written about Bran. He was riding again and hadn't been this happy in months. Selene smiled as she read the letter, fingertips resting gently on the words.

_I can't express how grateful I am. Please thank your Uncle Tyrion for me. It pains me beyond measure to remember how apprehensible my behavior was toward him. Even more so to recall how much I upset you. I hope to fully earn your forgiveness one day._

_I look forward to your return and count the days until I am lucky enough to call you wife._

_Yours,_

_Robb Stark_

_This man will be my husband,_ Selene thought as she eyed the letter burning in the furnace. _Let the past burn as well._

She glanced over to her bed, where Myrcella was sleeping. Myrcella had a nightmare about Ser Hugh's death and could only fall asleep beside her older sister. Selene walked over to the young girl and tucked a golden curl behind her small ear. She looked so much like their mother, but innocent. Smiling, Selene lifted the sleeping furs up to Myrcella's chin. She remembered Maester Aemon's words; _you must accept who you are._ Myrcella, Tommen, and Tyrion made Selene almost proud to be a Lannister.

She picked up the quill.

_My Dear Robb,_

_Thank you for your letter._

_I'm beside myself with joy to hear of Bran's lifted spirits. I'm glad my uncle was able to give him some much needed happiness, however small, in the face of his misfortunes._

_Your sisters are well. Little Arya is as wild as ever, and has begun sword training. After witnessing our fight in Winterfell, Arya was adamant that if a princess could learn to wield a sword, so could she. Your poor lord father was helpless and had no choice but to yield._

_Sansa, more beautiful than before, is enjoying the pageantry of the capital. She's been present for every second of the Hand's Tournament and is always eating her little lemon cakes. Her grief for Lady has lessened, although her anger at your father is still there. I'm sure with time she will come to forgive him._

_Your lord father is unused to the heat of King's Landing and yearns for the north and your lady mother. He seems slightly overwhelmed with the rules and games of court, but never fear. My promise to you stands, I will keep him safe from harm. I am, as you once so affectionately called me, his defender._

_I look forward to returning to Winterfell, the north, and to you._

_Yours,_

_Selene Baratheon_

She looked at the letter, satisfied. She took a breath to call Lori, but froze, glancing at the hearth. She grabbed another parchment and scribbled hastily.

_Lord Commander Mormont of the Night's Watch,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and warm._

_I wanted to assure you that I have mentioned the plight of the Night's Watch to my father the king. He has promised to send food and supplies to assist you. Do let me know if you are in need of anything else. I will do all in my power to help._

_Regards,_

_Princess Selene of House Baratheon_

_P.S Please tell Lord Snow that Dorne is beautiful this time of year._

Selene didn't allow herself time for doubt. She quickly folded each letter and sealed them with the special yellow seal that her father had made for her. It featured a crowned stag, like her father's banner, with the addition of a crescent moon emblazoned on its breast.

Selene handed the letters to Lori on her way to the tourney pitch. Ser Barristan was there watching over Ser Hugh, and Selene wanted to be with him. She passed colorful banners of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. The red and blue of House Tully, the pale green and gold of House Tyrell, but most of all, the black and yellow of House Baratheon and the silver and white of House Stark. The light of dawn cast a pink hue on the world as Selene entered the warmth of the tent. The stench of death was almost overwhelming, but she walked to Ser Barristan's side as the silent sisters worked on the corpse.

"You shouldn't have to see this," Selmy said, his eyes fixed on Ser Hugh as the sisters stitched up the gash in his neck. He looked peaceful as he lay there in his rich silks.

"I know," Selene replied. If a war was coming, she had better get accustomed to the scent of blood and decay.

Lord Eddard Stark entered the tent, eyeing Selene with surprise. She wondered why the Hand had come when his eyes fell on the young dead knight.

"I stood last vigil for him myself," Selmy said as the three of them looked down at the body. "He had no one else. A mother in the Vale, I'm told."

First Lord Jon, and now his squire. It seemed a dark time for House Arryn.

"The king knighted him before he rode to Winterfell, in Jon's memory. The lad wanted it desperately," Ser Barristan shook his head. "I fear he was not ready."

Ned looked tired beyond his years. "None of us are every ready."

"For knighthood?" Selene asked.

"For death," Ned said as he gently covered the boy in his bloodstained cloak of blue and silver. "This was needless. War should not be a game." He looked at a silent sister, whose face was hidden by grey cloth, except for her eyes. "Send his armor home to the Vale. The mother will want to have it."

"It is worth a fair piece of silver," Selmy told him. "The boy had it forged special for the tournament. I do not know if he had finished paying the smith,"

"He paid yesterday, my lord, and he paid dearly," Ned said sadly. "Who determines the draw?" His eyes shifted back and forth in deep thought.

Selene's brows furrowed. "All the knights draw straws, my lord."

"Aye, princess," Stark said, his eyes grave, "but who holds the straws?" He looked back to the women. "You've done good work, sisters," he said as he turned and left the tent.

Selene and Barristan exchanged a look and followed the Hand.

They fell in step beside him, the trio heading toward the royal pavilion. The camp was beginning to wake, with young squires rushing around to meet the demands of their masters. The shields outside each tent heralded their occupant: the silver eagle of Seaguard, Bryce Caron's field of nightingales, a cluster of grapes for the Redwynes, brindled boars, red ox, burning tree, white ram, triple spiral, purple unicorn, dancing maiden, twin towers, horned owl, and the pure white blazons of the Kingsguard, shining like the dawn.

"Life is strange," Ser Barristan said reminiscently to Lord Stark. "Not so many years ago, we fought as enemies at the Trident."

"I'm glad we never met on the field, Ser Barristan," Ned smiled. "As is my wife. I don't think the widow's life would suit her."

Selmy chuckled, "You're too modest. I've seen you cut down a dozen great knights."

Selene was stunned. Enemies turned allies, two of the greatest warriors alive, and yet here they were, loyal to her lord father. It gave her a sliver of hope for her own future.

"My father once told me you were the best he'd ever seen," Ned continued. "I never knew the man to be wrong about matters of combat."

"He was a fine man, your father," Ser Barristan's eyes grew dark. "What the Mad King did to him was a terrible crime."

Selene shuddered as she remembered the story. The Mad King had arrested Brandon Stark after he led a party of noblemen to save his sister Lyanna from Rhaegar Targaryen. He summoned Rickard to answer for his son's crimes, and Aerys burned him alive. Brandon, tied to a noose with a sword just out a reach, strangled himself trying to save his father. And due to that tragedy, Eddard, a second son, became Lord of Winterfell.

"That lad," Ned gestured back to the tent, quickly changing the topic. "He was a squire until a few months ago. How could he afford a new suit of armor?"

"Perhaps Lord Arryn left him some money?" Selene offered.

Ned sighed.

"The king means to fight in the melee today," Ser Barristan said. "He said so himself last night."

"He can't," Selene said, hearing the uncertainty in her own voice. "He could get hurt."

Ser Barristan looked troubled, "They say night's beauties fade at dawn, and the children of wine are oft disowned in the morning light."

"Aye, they do say that," Ned conceded, "but not of Robert."

Selene knew what he meant. Her father would never back down from a challenge.

Ser Barristan stood outside her father's tent while she and the Hand went inside. They found King Robert roaring angrily at the young squire inside while drinking from a polished horn. The squire was trying to put the gorget around her father's thick neck, but it refused to stay put. She recognized her distant cousin.

"It's made too small, Your Grace," Lancel Lannister said in a shrill voice. "It won't go."

" _Seven hells,_ " Robert roared. "Do I have to do it myself? Piss on you. Pick it up. Don't just stand there gaping, Lancel, _pick it up_." The king noticed his Hand and his daughter. "Look at this whore's son. Can't even put a man's armor on him properly."

Ned gave her father a glance, "You're too fat for your armor."

Robert's eyes darkened as he threw the empty horn on the furs of his bed.

"Fat? _Fat_ , is it? Is that how you speak to your king?"

Ned crossed him arms over his chest.

The king let go his laughter, sudden as a storm. Ned chuckled, and even Selene found herself smiling. Lancel wore a small smile, and breathed a sigh of relief when the king turned on him, as serious as death.

"Oh it's funny, is it?"

The light left Lancel's eyes, "No, Your Grace."

"No?" The king's head tilted slightly, "You don't like the Hand's joke?"

Lancel looked back and forth between the King and Hand in agony.

"You're torturing the poor boy," Ned stated plainly.

"You heard the Hand, the king's too fat for his armor. Go find the breastplate stretcher. Now!"

Lancel bolted out of the tent, her father's laughter behind him.

"How long until he figures it out?" Selene said with a knowing smile.

Robert looked at her affectionately. "Hopefully the smith will have enough brains to keep him running around all day," he said with a chortle.

Ned looked grave, as usual, "That boy. Lannister?"

Selene nodded at the Hand, "Distant cousin. My mother's family is quite large."

Ned looked at Robert, "The talk is you and the queen exchanged angry words last night."

The king's face turned sour. "The woman tried to forbid me from fighting. She's sulking now in the castle, damn woman. Your sister would never shame me like that."

"You never knew Lyanna as I did, Robert," Ned was quick to say. "You saw her beauty, not the iron underneath. She would have told you that you have no business in the melee."

Selene couldn't help but think of Jon and the look in his eyes as he named their imaginary daughter Lyanna.

"You too?" The king's eyes turned to her, "And what does my own flesh and blood think?"

Selene held her father's gaze with steel, "A stupid decision."

Robert took a deep breath and she prepared herself for the storm, but then he turned to Ned, "You see that? As tough as iron, just like her father! My daughter has more balls than my son." He looked proud. "Shame _she_ can't sit the throne once I'm gone."

"You are the king," Ned reminded him. "You sit the throne-"

"I sit on the damn seat when I must. Does that mean I don't have the same hungers as other men? A bit of wine, the feel of a horse between my legs, a weapon in hand…Gods, Ned I want to _hit_ something."

"Father," Selene spoke up, "it is not seemly that a king should fight. It would not be a fair contest. Who in all of Westeros would dare strike you?"

Robert seemed taken aback, "Why, all of them, damn it. If they can. And the last man standing-"

"-will be you," Ned finished, eyeing Selene with a hint of admiration. She smiled at him. He understood what she was doing. Robert savored the danger of the melee, but this touched his pride. "Your daughter is right. There is not a man in the Seven Kingdoms who would risk your displeasure by hurting you."

The king's face reddened with rage, "Are you telling me these cravens would _let me win?_ "

"For a certainty," Selene said firmly.

Ned nodded his agreement.

Robert paced around the tent, finally throwing his breastplate as hard as he could. "Get out, Selene," his voice was thick with anger. "I would speak with Ned alone."

###

The queen was absent from the last joust of the tournament. Again, her father had bid her to sit beside him. Whatever fury had consumed him was gone, and he seemed to be looking forward to more blood and battle. Her siblings sat around them.

When the Knight of Flowers made his entrance, a murmur went through the crowd. Selene heard Myrcella whisper to Tommen, "Oh, he's so _beautiful_." Ser Loras Tyrell was slender as a reed, dressed in a suit of fabulous silver armor polished to a blinding sheen and laced with tiny blue flowers. The small folk gasped as they realized the blue flowers were actually sapphires. His cloak hung heavy and was entirely made of real woven flowers. His beautiful grey mare, built for speed, rode up to Sansa Stark, and Ser Loras offered her a beautiful long stemmed rose.

"Thank you, Ser Loras," Sansa said so softly that Selene strained to hear. Ser Loras was riding against Ser Gregor, and both jousters pulled up to the royal pavilion to pay their respects to the king. The Tyrell bowed grandly, while the Mountain barely nodded, his face hidden behind his vast black helmet. Ser Gregor was having difficulty controlling his stallion as it screamed and pawed the ground, nearly throwing it's rider after a kick from Clegane's armored boot.

Both riders waited at the end of the lists, and then it began. Clegane's stallion plunged forward wildly, while Tyrell's mare was as graceful as silk. Ser Gregor was trying to lift his shield and juggle his lance, all while attempting to control the wild stallion beneath him, when Ser Loras placed his lance true, and suddenly Ser Gregor was falling, taking his horse down with him in a tangle of steel and flesh.

Selene cheered with the rest of the crowd as they applauded, gasped, and yelled excitedly. The smallfolk went mad for Ser Loras as he raised his visor and beamed at the crowd, the sapphires winking in the sunlight.

Selene hadn't been watching as Ser Gregor wrenched his helm and called for his sword. Her eyes only fell on him at the exact moment his greatsword fell on his horse's neck.

The horse screamed as it died. The cheers of the common people turned to screams as Ser Gregor ran toward Ser Loras.

"STOP HIM!" Selene shouted, but her words were lost in the chaos.

The Knight of Flowers was dragged from his horse as the flat of Ser Gregor's blade collided with his breastplate. Ser Loras was crawling back in the dirt as Clegane raised his sword to deliver the killing blow.

" _Leave him be!_ " The Hound yelled as he ran forward to catch Ser Gregor's dealdly swing. The brothers backed away, sizing each other up as Ser Loras was helped to safety.

Joffrey stood, watching his sworn sword with interest.

The Hound and the Mountain collided in a flurry of swords and steel. Both colossal men were fighting with such rage, it was a wonder they were brothers.

Selene grabbed her father by the arm. "Stop this," she begged, but Robert was sitting forward in his seat, watching the fight with horrified intrigue.

"Father!" Selene cried as a sword narrowly missed the Hound's face.

Robert stood, " _STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!"_

The Hound fell to one knee, his sword pressed the ground.

The Mountain's swing missed. Eyes up at Robert, Ser Gregor threw his sword angrily in the dirt.

"Let him go!" The king yelled as the Mountain shouldered past the Kingsguard.

"I owe you my life, ser," Ser Loras said reverently to the Hound.

"I am no _ser,_ " The Hound said bitterly.

"The day is yours," Tyrell said as he grabbed the Hound's hand and lifted it in the air.

The smallfolk erupted in cheers.

Selene leaned back in her chair in relief, eyeing her father. _Why did he wait so long to intervene?_ Selene wondered. Perhaps her father yearned for the days of war and bloodshed more than she had realized. For her father's own sake, she prayed those days would never come.


	16. The Way That Matters

Selene Baratheon bounced on the balls of her feet in anticipation.

"Again," Ser Barristan commanded.

Selene threw herself forward, bringing Stormsbane down hard on Ser Arys Oakheart, the black stag on the pommel gleaming in the sunlight. He blocked and countered. The Kingsgaurd have grown used to practicing with the princess, and have long been training with her as they do with each other. She was wearing her training clothes, trousers and a sleeveless white tunic that stopped at her upper thighs. Eleni was lounging in the shade, purring as Tommen scratched her belly. Selene hacked at Ser Arys brutally, he met her blow in midair, and the two fought a battle of strengths. Her arm eventually gave out under him, and he disarmed her, the tip of his sword pressed to her throat.

"Wrong," Selmy said.

Selene picked up her sword.

"Again."

Ser Preston Greenfield stepped forward. Selene glared at him, wiping the sweat dripping from her forehead with the back of her hand. As Ser Preston crouched in anticipation, Selene swung wildly with all her power. The knight dodged it, swinging back. The flat of the sword smacked her smartly on the arm, and she knew a nasty bruise would soon follow.

"Wrong," Selmy repeated.

Again and again, knights of the Kingsguard, save her Uncle Jaime, stepped forward and again and again Selene was defeated. The mysterious letter she received last night weighed heavy on her mind.

_Come to the Hand's office tomorrow at midday. Your father's life depends on it._

Attached to the letter was a thin, badly burnt piece of parchment. Only a thin strip was legible. _My Dearest, Jon…_

It was a threat. Whoever summoned her went through the hearth in her chambers. Maester Aemon's milky eyes as he warned war flashed in her mind's eye. Tyrion's face as he swore his allegiance, Robb's as he whispered his devotion, Jon's as he stood on the Wall, snowflakes in his lashes, and Ser Hugh's, as he lay drowning in his own blood.

"Wrong."

Selene growled in frustration, "I'm doing it right! I'm fighting-"

"-like one of us." Ser Barristan finished, walking toward her. "But you're not one of us. You're not a knight."

"I can-"

"No, you can't," Selmy interrupted. "You need to fight smarter, not harder. Be quicker, not stronger." He drew his sword and levelled it at her chest. Selene was still breathing heavily from exertion. Barristan's pale blues eyes were blazing. "Even Stormsbane was forged specially for your size. It's shorter and lighter than most swords."

Selene stared at him hard.

"You will never be stronger, do you understand?"

Selene was silent, her teeth grinding.

"Say it."

Selene's voice was thick, "I will never be stronger."

Barristan swung at her head. She ducked.

"Pick up your sword."

Selene walked to where it lay in the dirt and picked it up once more. Ser Barristan got into his fighting stance. Selene followed suit.

The Lord Commander stepped forward surely, swing at her left. She blocked it, and pushed back. He swung left again, she parried, whirling toward him. Back and forth they went, Selene attacking as quickly as she could, but Selmy always met her blows. In all her years of training, she could never touch her master.

The sounds of clanging swords sent her back to her childhood. She was eight years old, watching the Kingsguard train in the great courtyard of the Red Keep. The song of steel filled the air, and Selene had never seen anything as exhilarating as her uncle Jaime crossing swords with Ser Barristan the Bold. She bounded forward when she saw her six year old brother Joffrey, wielding a wooden sword, training with Ser Boros. Her mother the queen was watching her little golden lion with pride as he swung the toy clumsily. He was two years her junior, yet she had never been offered lessons. Joffrey had all their mother's love, and now he was going to learn swordplay as well? It was more than Selene's heart could bear.

"Where's _my_ wooden sword?" Selene demanded with a stamp of her foot.

Cersei's eyes were as cold as ever as they fell upon her oldest child. "You are a woman. We do not fight," she called from one of the arches that surrounded the courtyard.

The knights chuckled at Selene's question.

"Princess," Ser Barristan said kindly, "girls don't train with swords, as boys do. You will learn to embroider and paint and dance."

Selene frowned, shaking her dark curls, "I don't _want_ to embroider and paint and dance, I want to _fight._ Just like my father. And Uncle Jaime!" Her golden uncle had defeated the Mad King and saved King's Landing, clearing the way for her lord father to sit the throne. Uncle Jaime was her hero.

Ser Jaime laughed as he pushed his golden hair out of his eyes. He glanced at her mother, but walked to Selene, picked her up, and threw her over his shoulder. She was giggling like mad as she grabbed on to his armor.

"Selene," Jaime tried, "as a lady-"

"I'm not, I'm not, _I'm not!_ " she protested. "I'm a stag. And a lion." Selene grabbed her uncle's face between her small hands. "Please, uncle," her blue stormy eyes met his emerald ones, "I want to be like you."

Jaime raised his brows, "It won't be easy. Your father will be against this." Jaime's eyes found Cersei's once more. "Your mother even more so." Selene glanced at the queen, whose eyes narrowed suspiciously at them.

"I don't care," Selene said quickly. "As long as I have you." She threw her arms around her uncle's neck and squeezed him tight.

Jaime chuckled, returning her embrace. "You'll always have me, my fierce little lion," he said softly as he ran his fingers through her hair.

Selene was jarred from her memories by Selmy's foot as he sent her sprawling into the dirt. She landed with a thud, but nothing hurt more than her pride.

Ser Barristan stood above her. "I do not know what has gotten into you, but you are distracted." He looked to the other knights. "That's enough training for today."

Selene stayed on the ground, bringing her knees up and hugging them close. Eleni padded from her spot in the shade and nuzzled the side of Selene's face with her soft black nose.

Ser Barristan knelt. "What is the matter?"

_There's a war coming. I don't know what side I'll be on. I don't know what side my family will be on. My father's life is in danger. Someone knows about Jon._

"Nothing."

Selmy looked skeptical, "I know you better. You usually take apart Ser Meryn with a mere thought."

Selene stayed quiet. Eleni curled up protectively at her back, her head next to Selene's thigh. She stroked the lioness absentmindedly.

Ser Barristan sighed, "You are troubled?"

"Yes."

"Good." When she looked confused, he explained, "The perfect time to train is when you're troubled. You have been practicing for years, Selene, and at your best you are second to few." She drew breath to protest but he interrupted, "No arguments. Listen to me. Men underestimate you. I know this burns, but you will be grateful one day. You are quick, clever, precise, and deadly. You see yourself as your father's daughter, but frankly, it's your Uncle Jaime you remind me of."

Selene stood quickly, pointing her sword at Selmy's chest. He continued as if she hadn't moved. Eleni stayed on her belly, as if also sensing the empty threat.

"You have no memory of the last winter. All you know is summer," Barristan stood slowly, and for a moment his years showed, "but the Starks are always right eventually. Winter is coming, and you need to learn to fight in spite of your troubles."

Selene sighed, sword arm falling to her side, the fight drained out of her.

Ser Barristan placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "When you were born, your father asked me to be your sworn shield. Highly unusual, as the Lord Commander is usually the shield of the king or his heir. Your mother protested, saying he should save me for their firstborn son. Robert took one look at you and anointed me your sword." Selene was taken aback, never hearing this before. "The court thought you mad when you demanded to be trained. A doe with lion's blood, they called you. I admit, at first I was opposed to it, but I saw your determination, your strength…I'm proud of the person you have become and whatever you're facing," he touched her chin affectionately, "I know you will win."

Tears stung her eyes. Selene nodded, speechless.

"Now, go get some rest, or you'll have to endure the shame of losing to an old man twice in one morning."

###

Selene stood outside the Hand's office in her finest silver silks wearing her coronet, Stormsbane dangling at her hip. If she was meeting an enemy, she would show all her power and wealth.

Jory bowed, "Your Grace, the Hand is busy."

"Tell him it's urgent."

With a respectful nod, Jory went inside. After a few quiet moments, the door swung open and she was ushered inside. Ned sat alone at his desk, still going over that book, _The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms._

"To what do I owe this honor, princess?" Ned asked politely as Jory closed the door behind him.

"I was bid to come here," she said carefully.

Ned frowned, "I did not summon you."

Selene had figured that. Ned Stark did not have a scheming bone in his body.

There was a soft rap at the door.

"A man is here to see you, my lord," Jory called from outside. "He will not give his name."

Ned and Selene exchanged a look. "Tell him he must wait," Lord Stark ordered. "I am entertaining a guest."

Mumbling behind the door.

Jory cleared his throat, "He says it concerns the princess, as well."

Selene swallowed.

Curiosity was stronger than caution. "Send him in," Ned said.

The visitor was a stout man in cracked, mudcaked boots and a heavy brown robe of the coursest roughspun, his features hidden by a cowl, his hands drawn up into his voluminous sleeves.

"Who are you?" Selene asked.

"A friend," the cowled man asked in a strange, low voice. "We must speak alone." He said with a curt bow.

Selene glanced at Ned. They were in the Hand's chambers. The decision lay with him.

"Jory, leave us." Ned commanded. Not until the three of them were alone behind closed doors did the visitor removed his cowl.

Selene drew back in surprise.

" _Lord Varys?_ " Ned said in astonishment.

"Lord Stark," Varys said politely, seating himself. "I wonder if I may trouble you for a drink?"

Ned filled three cups with summerwine and handed one to Varys and Selene. She was hardly thirsty.

"I may have passed within a foot of you and never recognized you," Selene said incredulously. Varys had been a presence in Selene's life for as long as she could remember. She had never seen the eunuch in anything but rich silks and velvets. The man before her smelled of sweat, not like the usual scent of flowers that followed the euncuh wherever he went.

_Varys threatened me?_ Selene must have be mistaken. While he never exactly exuded warmth, the Spider never struck her as an enemy.

"That was my dearest hope, Your Grace," Varys said. "It would not do if certain people learned that I had spoken with you two in private. The queen watches you closely, Lord Stark. And you, princess. This wine is excellent, thank you."

"How did you get past my other guards?" Ned asked. Selene had passed at least three northmen on the way to the Hand's chambers.

"The Red Keep has ways known only to ghosts and spiders," Varys smiled apologetically. "I will not keep you long, my lord, princess. There are things you must know. You are the king's Hand," the eunuch said to Ned, then his eyes flickered to Selene, "and you the king's daughter, and the king is a fool."

"How dare-" Selene started heatedly, but Varys interrupted.

"Your father, I know, but a fool nonetheless." All of the eunuch's airy tones had turned to ice. "And doomed, unless you two can save him. Yesterday was a near thing. They had hoped to kill him during the melee."

Selene was speechless with shock.

Ned was not. " _Who?_ "

Varys sipped his wine. "If I truly need to tell you that, you are a bigger fool than Robert and I am on the wrong side."

Ned's jaw set, "The Lannisters." His eyes glanced warily at Selene.

" _What?_ " Selene's voice was shrill. "They can't…they wouldn't…" Their laughing green eyes was all she could see.

Varys leaned forward in his chair, "Do not fear, Lord Eddard, the princess is not one of them."

"She is Cersei's daughter," Ned pointed out, eyes untrusting.

"In blood alone, but trust me, not in the way that matters. She is Robert's, through and through."

"Pardon me, _my lords,_ " Selene spat, "but what-"

"It's time to make a choice, princess," Varys said, eyes boring into her. "You've known in your heart this day was coming. Ever since your mother first turned up her nose at you, ever since your uncle Jaime, once your idol, refused to train you, ever since Joffrey's first hateful words…"

Selene wanted to scream.

"Baratheon or Lannister?" Varys asked. Ned leaned forward in his chair.

Selene could almost see Tyrion's mismatched eyes grinning at her fondly, Myrcella's and Tommen's golden curls bouncing as they laughed and played with Eleni in the courtyard.

_You must accept who you are._

There was never any doubt.

Selene lifted her chin, "Baratheon."

Varys nodded.

Something was bothering her, "But…my mother asked the king not to fight in the melee!"

"She _forbade_ him to fight, in front of his brother, his knights, and half the court. Tell me truly, do either of you know any surer way to force King Robert into the melee?"

The ground seemed to sway underfoot. Varys had the right of it. Tell her father that he could not or should not do something, and it was as good as done.

Ned spoke, "Even if he did fight, who would dare strike the king?"

The eunuch shrugged. "There were forty riders in the melee. The Lannisters have many friends. Amidst all that chaos, with horses screaming and bones breaking and Thoros of Myr waving that absurd firesword of his, who could name it murder if some chance blow felled His Grace?" He refilled his cup while Ned and Selene sat in stunned silence. "After the deed was done, the slayer would be beside himself with grief. I can almost hear him weeping. So sad. Yet no doubt the gracious and compassionate queen would take pity, lift the poor unfortunate to his feet, and bless him with a gentle kiss of forgiveness. Good King Joffrey would pardon him." Selene shivered at the thought of Joffrey as king. Varys stroked his chin thoughtfully, "Of perhaps Cersei would let Ser Ilyn strike off his head. Less risk for the Lannisters that way, though quite an unpleasant surprise for our little friend."

Selene felt a deep fury rise in her, the likes of which she had never felt before. "You knew of this plot, yet you did _nothing._ "

"I command whispers, my dear, not warriors."

"I am not your dear," Selene said through grit teeth.

"You could have come to me with this," Ned argued, his voice rising in anger.

"Oh, yes, I confess it. And you would have rushed straight to the king, yes? And when Robert heard of his peril, what would he have done? I wonder."

Selene knew the answer before Ned spoke.

"He would have damned them all, and fought anyway, to show he did not fear them."

Varys spread his hands, "I will make another confession, Lord Eddard. I was curious to see what you would do. _Why not come to me?_ you ask, and I must answer, _Why, because I did not trust you, my lord."_

_"You_ did not trust _me?"_ Ned repeated in astonishment.

"The Red Keep shelters two sorts of people, Lord Stark," Varys explained. "Those who are loyal to the realm, and those who are loyal only to themselves. Until yesterday, I could not say which you might be…so I waited to see…and I now I know, for a certainty." He smiled at Ned, and for a moment it felt like Varys' true feelings showed on his face, "I am beginning to comprehend why the queen fears you so much."

"And which kind of person am I, Lord Varys?" Selene asked through narrowed eyes.

"I've known the answer to that question for many years, brave girl," Varys said through a tight smile. "And if I did not, you would not be sitting here with us now. You underestimate your own influence. The queen fears you too."

"She _does?_ " Selene asked incredulously. All her life, Cersei Lannister has struck fear into her heart. To hear that the queen was scared of her was madness.

Varys nodded, "The beloved daughter of the king, the realm's delight, and the future Lady of the north, the largest of the Seven Kingdoms…Yes, the queen has much cause to be wary of you."

"You are the one the queen ought to fear," Ned said pointedly.

"No, I am what I am," Varys assured them. "The king makes use of me, but it shames him. A most mighty warrior is our Robert, and such a manly man has little love for sneaks and spies and eunuchs. If a day should come when Cersei whispers, 'Kill that man,' Ilyn Payne will chop off my head, and who will mourn poor Varys then? North or south, they sing no songs for spiders." He reached out and touched Ned with a soft hand, "But you, Lord Stark…I think…no, I _know_...he would not kill you, not even for his queen, and there may lie our salvation." He walked to Selene, looking as if he would take her hand. He must have noticed the poison in her eyes, because he didn't touch her, "And you…his most precious child…his bold Selene. He listens to you, but more than that. You know how to handle him, how to make him see _reason_."

It was all too much. For a moment, Selene wanted nothing so much as to leave the Red Keep and run north to Winterfell, to Robb. A dark part in the back of her mind wanted to continue north to Wall, steal Jon from the Night's Watch, and run to Essos. To be rid of the court and the liars and plots.

"Surely, Robert has other loyal friends," Ned protested. "His brothers, his-"

"Wife?" Varys finished, with a smile that cut. "His brothers hate the Lannisters, true enough, but hating the queen and loving the king are not quite the same thing, are they? Ser Barristan loves his honor, Grand Maester Pycelle loves his office, and Littlefinger loves Littlefinger."

"The Kingsguard-" Selene started.

"A paper shield," Varys said quickly. " _Try_ not to look so shocked, princess. Jaime Lannister is himself a Sworn Brother of the White Swords, and we all know what _his_ oath is worth. The days when men like Ryam Redwyne and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight wore the white cloak are gone to dust and song. Of these seven, only Ser Barristan Selmy is made of true steel, and Selmy is _old._ Ser Boros and Ser Meryn are the queen's creatures to the bone, and I have deep suspicions of the others. No, princess, when the swords come out in earnest, you two will be the only true friends Robert Baratheon will have."

"Robert must be told," Ned said. "If what you say is true, if even part of it is true, the king must hear it for himself."

"And what proof shall we lay before him?" Varys countered. "My words against theirs? My little birds against the queen and the Kingslayer, against his brothers and his council, against the Warden of the West, against all the might of Casterly Rock? Pray, send for Ser Ilyn directly, it will save us all some time."

"Yet if what you say is true, they will only bide their time and make another attempt," Selene argued.

"Indeed they will," Varys conceded, "and sooner rather than later, I do fear. You are making them most anxious, Lord Eddard. But my little birds will be listening, and together we may be able to forestall them, our brave little trio." He rose and pulled up his cowl so his face was hidden once more. "Thank you for the wine. We will speak again. When you see me next at council, Lord Eddard, be certain to treat me with your accustomed contempt. You should not find it difficult."

Selene's throat was dry, but she had to know. "Varys…your threat…" His little birds were all over the Seven Kingdoms, even in the far north. No doubt from that little scap of paper and whispers, he could work out the rest.

Ned looked confused, but Varys' eyes flashed.

"No threat, princess," the eunuch said politely, "merely a lesson. Be sure anything you want burned _burns._ What if such information were to fall into enemy hands?"

"And you are not an enemy?" Selene asked slowly.

Varys spread his hands, "Only to those who wish to do the realm harm." He went to leave.

_"Varys,"_ Ned called. "How did Jon Arryn die?"

"I wondered when you would get around to that."

"Tell me."

"The Tears of Lys, they call it. A rare and costly thing, clear and sweet as water, and it leaves no trace. I begged Lord Arryn to use a taster, in this very room I begged him, but he would not hear of it. Only one who was less than a man would even think of such a thing, he told me."

Selene thought of the sweet tempered man who had always been so kind to her. "Who gave him the poison?"

"Some dear sweet friend, who often shared meat and mead with him, no doubt. Oh, but which one? There were so many. Lord Arryn was a kindly, trusting man." The eunuch sighed, "There _was_ one boy. All he was, he owed to Jon Arryn, but when the widow fled to the Eyrie with her household, he stayed in King's Landing and prospered. It always gladdens my heart to see the young rise in the world." The whip was in his voice again, every word a stroke, "He must have a cut a gallant figure in the tourney, him in his bright new armor, with those crescent moons on his cloak. A pity he died so untimely…"

Selene felt half-poisoned herself. "The squire," she breathed, "Ser Hugh." Wheels within wheels within wheels. Her head was pounding.

" _Why?_ " Ned asked quietly. "Why now? Jon Arryn had been Hand for fourteen years. Fourteen good years. What was he doing that they had to kill him?"

"Asking questions," Varys said, slipping out of the door.


	17. The Lion and the Wolf

"Daenerys is a fourteen year old girl," Ned was arguing loudly to the small council. "No older than your own daughter. Robert, I ask you, what did we rise against Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?"

"To put an end to the _Targaryens!"_ Robert growled.

Selene was holding her breath from above. Contrary to what Varys believed, the Red Keep also had secrets known to princesses, not just ghosts and spiders. Selene had found this trap door years ago, thanks to Eleni, that led directly above the council chambers. Sometimes she would listen in on her father's meetings. Her father had called an emergency session, so Selene had snuck in and was watching through ventilation grates.

"The Robert I knew didn't tremble at the shadow of an unborn child," Ned said scornfully.

Her father purpled. "No more, Ned," Robert warned, pointing. "Not another word. Have you forgotten who is king here?"

"No, Your Grace," Ned replied. "Have you?"

Selene took a sharp breath from her hiding spot.

" _Enough,_ " Robert bellowed. "I am sick of talk. What say you all?"

"She must be killed," Lord Renly declared.

"We have no choice," murmured Varys. "Sadly, sadly…"

Selene would never understand the spider. Yesterday, he spoke of protecting the realm, yet now he was orchestrating the murder of an innocent girl. Maybe the two weren't mutually exclusive.

_Her father wasn't innocent,_ a voice in the back of her mind said. _He was a monster, a murderer, a madman_ and yet…

The Targaryen girl was scarcely a year her senior. She wasn't guilty of her father's crimes.

Ser Barristan Selmy raised his eyes from the table, "Your Grace, there is honor in facing an enemy on the battlefield, but none in killing him in his mother's womb. Forgive me, but I must stand with Lord Eddard."

Selene smiled. Selmy always had the right of it.

Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat, a process that seemed to take some minutes, "My order serves the realm, not the ruler. Once I counseled King Aerys as loyally as I counsel King Robert now, so I bear this girl of his no ill will. Yet I ask you this, should war come again, how many soldiers will die? How many children will be ripped from their mothers to perish on the end of a spear?" He stroked his long white beard, infinitely sad, infinitely weary, "Is it not wiser, even _kinder,_ that Daenerys Targaryen should die now so that tens of thousands might live?"

"Kinder," Varys repeated. "Oh, well and truly spoken, Grand Maester. Should the gods grant Daenerys Targaryen a son, the realm will bleed."

Littlefinger spoke last, stifling a yawn, "When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, the best thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it. Waiting won't make the maid any prettier. Kiss her and be done with it."

" _Kiss her?"_ Ser Barristan repeated, aghast.

"A steel kiss," explained Littlefinger.

Robert turned to Ned. "Well, there it is, Ned. You and Selmy stand alone on this matter. The only question that remains is, who can we find to kill her?"

"Mormont craves a royal pardon," Lord Renly reminded them.

"Desperately," Varys said, "yet he craves life even more. By now, the princess nears Vaes Dothrak, where it is death to draw a blade. If I told you what the Dothraki would do to the poor man who used one on a _khaleesi,_ none of you would sleep tonight." He touched his powdered cheek, "Now, poison…the Tears of Lys, let us say. Khal Drogo need never know it was not a natural death."

"Poison is a coward's weapon," Robert complained.

"You send hired knives to kill a fourteen-year-old girl and still quibble about honor?" Ned said angrily as he stood from his chair. "Do it yourself, Robert. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Look her in the eyes before you kill her. Or, better yet, bring your daughter Selene in here. She's of the same age. Tell _her_ you must kill her for the 'good of the realm'. See her tears, hear her last words, and imagine Daenerys Targaryen weeping the same. You owe her that much at least."

" _Gods,"_ her father swore, the word exploding out of him as if he could barely contain his fury. "You will hold your tongue about my daughter. Selene is not dragonspawn." He reached for his flagon, found it empty, and flung it away to shatter against the wall. "I am out of wine and patience. Enough of this. Just have it done."

"I will not be part of murder, Robert. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to it."

The room was quiet. Selene saw her father's face change from confusion, to comprehension, to black rage.

"You are the King's Hand, Lord Stark. You will do as I command, or I will find me a Hand that will."

"I wish him every success," Ned said as he took off his badge of office and laid it on the table. "I thought you were a better man."

Robert's face was as purple as his wine. " _Out,"_ nearly choking on his rage. "Out, damn you, I'm done with you. What are you waiting for? Go, run back to Winterfell! And make sure I never look on your face again, or I swear, I'll have your head on a spike!"

Ned bowed, and turned on his heel without another word.

The council continued as if nothing had happened. "On Braavos there is a society called the Faceless Men…" Grand Maester Pycelle offered.

Selene didn't stick around for the rest. She shimmied silently from where she was hiding and used the hidden door behind a tapestry to follow Lord Stark to his chambers. When she rounded the corner, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"What are you doing here?"

Selene whirled around to find her mother leaning against an archway.

"Mother!" Selene said in surprised, nearly laughing with relief, but the mirth turned to acid in her mouth. If Varys could be believed, the woman before her had plotted murder against her father. Perhaps she was even responsible for Bran's fall.

Cersei did not repeat herself.

"Just walking," Selene said.

"That may be what you're doing, child," Cersei stepped closer, "but why _here_?"

Selene widened her eyes innocently, "I heard there was distressing news from abroad." Cersei's eyes never wavered, "I wanted to see how Father was faring."

Cersei smiled, "How very thoughtful of you." She took a few steps forward, "You have always been so considerate."

"You raised me well," Selene said with a respectful bow. Her mother's head tilted to the side.

"I can see that," was all Cersei said before disappearing down the hall in a flurry of skirts.

Selene froze, straining her ears until she couldn't hear Cersei's footsteps echo in the halls. Once she was sure her mother was gone, she dashed to the Tower of the Hand.

She was nearly breathless when she found Lord Eddard Stark brooding at his window, fingering a Valyrian steel dagger thoughtfully. She shouldered past the guards.

"Forgive me, my lord," a northman said. "I tried stopping her, but-"

"Nothing to forgive, Tom," Ned said with a ghost of a smile. "I doubt you could keep the princess out if you tried." He nodded at the guard and then they were alone.

Selene started, "My lord Hand-"

"Hand no more," Ned interrupted. "I'm leaving this nest of snakes and liars." But there was hesitation in his eyes.

"What about my father's life? The king is in danger!"

"The king is a stranger to me now," Ned said sadly. "My place is in Winterfell, with my wife and children."

"What about justice for Jon Arryn? He was _murdered_."

Selene had him and he knew it. His jaw tensed as he glanced from the dagger in his hand to the old tome he'd been reading for what seemed like forever.

"Lord Eddard," she said slowly. " _Why_ are you reading that book?"

Ned looked at her carefully. "Princess Selene, I heard you swear in this very room that you were Baratheon, and you foreswore your Lannister blood."

Selene straightened, "I did, my lord."

Ned's grey eyes were as hard as ice, "And if you had to choose between your Baratheon family and my own?"

Selene hesitated. It was easy to take her father's side against her mother. But could she take Stannis's side over Ned's? Renly's over Robb's? She wasn't so sure. Selene had spent months coming to terms with her marriage into the Stark family. At this point, she felt nearly Stark herself.

She held Ned's gaze, "I would do what is just."

He allowed a small smile, "You remind me of your father in his younger years. He was stubborn, to be sure, but honorable and noble." He glanced at the knife, "Sit. There is much I need to tell you."

And so Ned finally told her the truth about his coming to King's Landing. He told her about Lysa Arryn's warning, the knife that armed the assassin sent to kill Bran, and his guard's hunting through the brothels of King's Landing to find Robert's bastards.

"His bastards?" Selene's mouth felt dry.

"I'm sorry, princess." Ned seemed uncomfortable.

Of course her father had bastards. Only a blind fool would think otherwise, but it hurt nonetheless.

"No matter," Selene said, wheels in her mind turning. "So what does this have to do with the book? What holds all this together?"

"The Lannisters, I'm sure of it," Ned said, "but there is something I'm missing. The final piece." He shook his head, "I do not know what it is."

A knock on the door.

"Lord Baelish to see you, my lord."

Ned hesitated, but said, "Show him in, Tom."

Lord Petyr sauntered into the solar as if nothing was amiss, He wore a slashed velvet doublet in cream-and-silver, a grey silk cloak trimmed with black fox, and his customary mocking smile. Selene's eyes narrowed. Unlike Varys, Littlefinger had always sent a shiver up her spine. Something about how his eyes always seemed to glitter, as if the world was a secret that only he was in on. His pale green eyes flickered from Ned to Selene.

"Oh, you two make _quite_ the pair."

Ned greeted him coldly, "Might I ask the reason for this visit, Lord Baelish? At the moment, I cannot think of anyone whose company I desire less than yours."

"Oh, I'm certain if you put your mind to it, you could come up with a few names. Varys, say. Cersei. Or Robert. His Grace is most wroth with you. He went on about you at some length after you took your leave of us this morning. The words _insolence_ and _ingratitude_ came into it frequently, I seem to recall."

Ned was silent, but glanced at Selene.

"Oh, do not worry about the princess," Littlefinger said, taking a seat as if he had been offered one. "She knows all the gruesome details from today's meeting." He smiled at her sarcastically, "As if she was there herself."

Selene's face burned.

Littlefinger continued, "After you stormed out, my lord, it was left to me to convince them not to hire the Faceless Men. Instead, Varys will quietly let it be known that we'll make a lord of whoever does in the Targaryen girl."

Selene was disgusted, "So now the realm grants titles to assassins."

Littlefinger shrugged, "Titles are cheap. The Faceless Men are expensive. If truth be told, I did the Targaryen girl more good than you, my lord, with all your talk of honor. _Let_ some sellsword drunk on visions of lordship try to kill her. Likely he'll make a botch of it, and afterward the Dothraki will be on their guard. If we'd sent a Faceless Man after her, she'd be as good as buried."

Ned frowned, "You sit in the council and talk of ugly women and steel kisses, and now you expect me to believe that you tried to protect the girl? How big a fool do you take me for?"

"Well, quite an enormous one, actually," said Littlefinger, laughing.

Selene's hands balled into fists, "Do you always find murder so amusing, Lord Baelish?"

"It's not murder I find amusing, princess. It's Lord Stark." His head swiveled to face Ned, "You rule like a man dancing on rotten ice. I daresay you will make a noble splash. I believe I heard the first crack this morning."

"The first and last," said Ned. "I've had my full."

"When do you mean to return to Winterfell, my lord?

"As soon as I can," Ned said. "What concern is that of yours?"

"None…but if perchance you're still here come evenfall, I'd be pleased to take you to this brothel your man Jory has been searching for so incompetently." Littlefinger smiled, "And I won't even tell Catelyn."

###

"She looks like him, don't she, milord?" The whore said to Ned and Selene in Chataya's brothel. She had light red hair and a powdering of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Selene was afraid to ask the girl's age. She looked scarce older than herself.

"I named her Barra," the girl continued, looking down on the sleeping babe fondly. Selene felt a deep pang in her gut. _A tribute to my father,_ she thought dully. _My half-sister…_ "She has his nose, and his black hair…"

"She does," Ned said, as he ran his fingers gently over the babe's fine black hair. _So much like my own._ The mother glanced distrustfully at Selene, drawing the babe closer to her chest.

Ned noticed, "Do not fear, this is my daughter." If the whore wondered why the King's Hand had brought his daughter, armed, to a brothel, she did not say. Selene wore the plainest clothes she owned, a roughspin tunic and itchy trousers. Her hair was completely hidden under her hood, a cowl covering her face.

The whore took a step closer, examining Selene's eyes, "I know those eyes…" she mumbled under her breath.

Selene took a step back.

"I promise you," Ned said quickly. "Barra will want for nothing."

"Thank you milord," the girl said, looking back at Ned. "Tell the king when you see him, if it pleases you. Tell him how beautiful she is."

"I will."

"And tell him I've been with no one else," the whore added fiercely. "I swear it, milord, by the old gods and the new. I don't want no jewels or nothing. Just him."

If it wasn't so sad, Selene might have snorted. There was more of a chance of Robert laying an egg than returning to this girl. Still, Ned, always the pinnacle of honor, nodded.

"I will tell him, child." And with a bow, Ned left the room. Selene followed.

"I should not have let you come here," Lord Stark said as they walked down the stairs to the common room of the brothel, sounds of pleasure filling the air.

"I would like to see you try and stop me, my lord," she whispered. To her surprise, Ned chuckled.

"I have always wondered what Arya will be like when she's older," Ned said. "Now I see for myself."

Selene laughed.

Ned grew serious, "When I go back to Winterfell with my daughters, I want you to come with me."

Selene was taken aback, "Why?"

"I worry for your safety here in the capital," Ned replied. "The Lannisters…no doubt when I leave they will find you a new match. If you come with me, I can protect you."

Selene was touched, "You honor me, Lord Stark."

Ned waved his hand, "You are my good daughter, in every way but name."

Selene was about to reply when they were interrupted.

"Brothels make a much better investment than ships, I've found," Baelish said grandly. He stood from velvet cushions, surrounded by exotic whores, whose dresses were open for the world to see. Selene was grateful for the cowl, which hid her blush. "Whores rarely sink." Petyr joked as he eyed Selene carefully, no doubt looking for discomfort. She straightened, and held his gaze surely.

"What do you know of King Robert's bastards?" Ned asked Baelish.

"Well, he has more than you, for a start," Littlefinger joked. Everything was a joke to him.

"How many?" Ned said, ignoring Baelish's goad.

"Does it matter?" Littlefinger countered. "If you fuck enough women, some of them will give you presents."

"Why would Jon Arryn take a sudden interest in my father's baseborn children?" Selene asked.

"He was the King's Hand," Littlefinger said. "Perhaps Robert wanted them looked after? He was _overcome_ with fatherly love."

Selene really wanted to hit Littlefinger.

Ned looked skeptical, "It had to be more than that, or why kill him?"

Littlefinger laughed, "Now I see. Lord Arryn learned that His Grace had filled the bellies of some whores and fishwives, and for that he had to be silenced. Small wonder. Allow a man like that to live, and next he's like to blurt out that the sun rises in the east."

Selene had heard enough, "I think we have learned all we could from this establishment." She looked over at Ned, "My lord?"

Ned nodded, and together they walked out into the street. Selene heard the marching of soldiers before she saw them. Ringmail over leather, gauntlets and steel helms with golden lions on the crests. She had no time to count, but there was at least twenty of them, blocking the street with longswords and iron tipped spears. Selene cursed herself for leaving Eleni behind in the Red Keep. It hardly helped discretion if a fully grown lioness was by her side, but she could have used her help now. Their leader was the only one on horseback, and he stopped in front of his line of soldiers.

"Such a small pack of wolves," Ser Jaime Lannister said with a smile as he dismounted his white stallion.

"Stay back, ser," Jory said, hand on his scabbard. "This is the Hand of the King."

" _Was_ the Hand of the King," Jaime said. "Now I'm not sure what he is. Lord of somewhere very far away." Noticing Selene, he added, "Taking one home, are we?"

Selene removed her hood and cowl in one clean move.

Jaime drew back in surprise.

"My name is Princess Selene of Houses Baratheon and Lannister," she declared loudly, attempting to confuse to the Lannister soldiers. "I demand safe passage for myself and Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell." The soldiers cast unsure glances amongst themselves.

Jaime's eyes narrowed at her, "You stand by that man after what his wife has done to your own blood?"

Selene looked at Lord Stark, confused.

"What is the meaning of this, Lannister?" Littlefinger said from the brothel doorway.

"Get back inside where it's safe," Jamie advised him. "I'm looking for my brother, Lord Stark," Jaime took a step closer, his hand dangling nonchalantly on his sword's pommel. "You remember my brother, don't you?"

It was then Selene realized that Tyrion's journey had taken too long.

Ned was silent, but Jamie continued, "Blonde hair, mismatched eyes, sharp tongue. A short man."

"I remember him well," Ned said calmly.

"It seems he had some trouble on the road," Jaime said strangely. "You wouldn't know what happened to him, would you?"

Selene took a step forward. "Is Tyrion alright?" she asked frantically.

Jaime's eyes never left Ned's. "Why don't you ask your precious Stark?"

Ned's eyes never left Jaime's, "He was taken at my command to answer for his crimes."

" _What?_ " Selene cried.

Jaime drew his sword dutifully. The Lannister soldiers followed suit. The northmen drew their weapons in response.

"My lords!" Littlefinger said, stepping forward. With a nervous look at all of the swords, he said, "I'll bring the City Watch." And ran back inside.

Selene stood between Ser Jaime and Lord Stark, facing Ned.

"Why?" Selene asked, trying her best to keep the panic from her voice.

"The dagger sent to kill Bran," Ned told her. "It belongs to the Imp."

Selene tried to argue, but Jaime interrupted, "Show me your steel, Lord Eddard. I'll butcher you like Aerys if I must, but I'd sooner you died with a blade in your hand."

Selene turned to her uncle, "If you so much as _touch_ Lord Eddard-"

"Go on, defend him!" Jaime's eyes burned like green fire. "Defend this stranger while he holds your family captive." He looked back at Ned. "I'm going to run him through."

Jory stepped forward, "If you threaten my lord again-"

"As in, 'I'm going to open your lord from balls to brain and see what Starks are made of'?"

"You kill me," Ned said resolutely, "and your brother's a dead man."

Jaime's smile flashed, "Would the noble Catelyn Tully of Riverrun murder a hostage? I think…not." He sighed, "But I am not willing to risk my brother's life on a woman's honor. So I suppose I'll let you run back to Robert to tell him how I frightened you. I wonder if he'll care." He turned his head to his soldiers, "Take Lord Stark alive."

"Still," Jaime continued, "we wouldn't want him to leave here _entirely_ unchastened…kill his men. Oh," he added on afterthought, "and don't harm the princess."

It all happened so fast. A Lannister soldier threw his spear into a northman's chest, killing him instantly. Selene drew her sword, same as Ned. Lannister or Stark? Her choice was made for her when she intercepted a Lannister soldier charging at Ned. Thrusting her sword against the soldier, she knocked his sword into the dust. Perhaps it was the years of training or instinct, but either way, she sliced Stormsbane sideways across the chink in the armor between the helm and the breastplate, spraying blood everywhere as the soldier fell, dead. She didn't have time to comprehend her first kill, because another soldier was coming for her. He was only trying to apprehend her, not kill her, so she hacked at his legs. He fell to his knees with a grunt, and she smashed the pommel of her sword with all her strength into his helm. Praying that he was unconscious, not dead, she turned to see Jory fighting Jaime. She ran forward to Jory's aid, when Jaime plunged a dagger into the boy's eye.

Selene froze where she stood, her heart pounding in her chest. Jaime, hand still on the dagger, eyed Ned. Lord Edward, mouth ajar in shock, watched as the Kingslayer let go of the blade and Jory's body fell to the ground with a final _thud._

Fury was burning in her chest. Her hands were shaking with adrenaline and rage. "You _monster,"_ she spat.

Jaime's eyes flickered with pain. Did he still care about what she thought? Was Selene capable of inflicting pain on him? She sincerely hoped so.

A hand rested firmly on her shoulder. It was Ned, walking in front her of as Jaime raised his sword at him.

"Stand behind me, princess," Ned said roughly.

Selene reluctantly complied, backing up while keeping her eyes on Jaime. Two were stronger than one, and while she's heard of Ned's skill, she'd seen Jaime's firsthand. There was no telling how this duel could go.

Ned raised his sword to deflect Jaime. Her uncle blocked Ned's strike. Jaime threw his sword forward as Ned ducked and reached for his sword arm. Jaime leapt forward, whirling around with all his might. Ned blocked, pushing him away. Jaime struck, and Ned deflected his blow, striking back. On and on these two masters fought. It would have been an incredible lesson, if Selene wasn't gripped by fear the entire time. As Ned's sword got dangerously close to Jaime's face, his eyes widened in delighted surprise. No doubt to wolf was giving the lion more trouble than he expected.

During a battle of strength, Selene saw uncertainty flash in Jaime's eyes. She was allowing herself to hope when a Lannister soldier dug his spear into Ned's calf.

" _No!_ " Selene shouted.

Ned cried out in pain and he staggered to one knee. Jaime looked puzzled, and then angry at the soldier. The soldier stood there, no doubt waiting for her uncle's praise. He must have been surprised when Jaime cracked the side of his helm with his longsword. Jaime sheathed his weapon, walking back to his horse. As he mounted his stallion, his eyes glanced at his niece.

"He took Tyrion," Jaime said, as if trying to make her understand.

Selene glared back at him, "Does Tyrion have a spear sticking out of his leg?" she asked angrily. "You just gave Catelyn Stark leave to harm him! This could have been solved with words, but you're too much of an _idiot_ to see that." And with that, she ran to Ned. He swayed where he knelt and tipped to one side. Selene slid forward to catch his head before it hit the ground. There was a dull burn in her knees, but it was nothing compared to the fear that burned white hot in her chest.

"My brother, Lord Stark," Ser Jaime said as he spurred his horse down the streets of King's Landing. "I want him back."


	18. A Silver Reflection

"I don't understand…" Sansa said tearfully over her father's unconscious body.

Selene didn't know how to respond. She sat in Lord Stark's chambers with his daughters, all looking down on the sleeping lord. He looked so peaceful, all trace of worry on his face gone. Sansa had been praying for days over her father, while Arya had said not a word. She sat by her father's side, eyes never wavering from his face. Selene had written to Robb, telling him of all that happened, and now she was nervously awaiting his reply. _Dear Robb, your mother has kidnapped by uncle, and my uncle has injured your father and killed his men._ She couldn't help feeling like she failed the Starks.

"I tried to protect him," Selene said softly.

"You didn't try hard enough," Arya said roughly. It was the first time she had spoken in days.

Tears sprang into Selene's eyes, "I know."

"Arya!" Sansa looked at her sister indignantly. "Princess Selene killed a _Lannister_ soldier for Father."

Arya's head turned sharply, "You did?"

Selene nodded, raising her right hand. It was still shaking. Something seemed to shift in Arya's eyes. The young girl looked back at her sleeping father. 

"Why has our mother taken your uncle captive?" Arya asked.

Selene had a feeling she knew, "I believe she blames him for Bran's fall."

Sansa's brows furrowed, "How would Lord Tyrion be responsible for Bran's accident?"

"If it _wasn't_ an accident, stupid," Arya retorted.

" _Girls,_ " Selene was suddenly very tired. "Please. We have enough enemies. We can't fight amongst ourselves."

Arya's brow twitched, "We?"

"Yes, we," Selene said firmly. "I'll be a Stark soon. Your sister." She gave the young girls a small smile, "Personally, I can't wait to be a part of your family."

To her surprise, the young girls smiled back weakly. The smiles looked more like grimaces given the situation, but it was a start.

A northman knocked on the door.

"Ser Meryn requests to see you, princess."

The girls looked worried. "Please don't go," Sansa said quickly.

"Don't worry about me." Selene had to be strong for them. For Robb. And for Jon.

"The queen has summoned you," Ser Meryn said in a stalwart voice.

"You leave Selene alone!" Arya yelled.

Selene turned. "It's my mother you should be worried for," she shot the girls a quick wink and left.

As she followed Ser Meryn to her mother's chambers, Selene did everything she could to slow her rapid heartbeat. _You will need to get used to playing the mummer's show,_ Tyrion had told her back in the north. Even if it meant playing the loving daughter to a murderous mother.

Selene entered her mother's large chambers, filled with crimson and gold tapestries and silks. The queen wore a dress of deep red velvet, heavy emeralds hanging from her ears. Cersei eyed Selene as Ser Meryn closed the door behind himself.

"Come, share some wine with me," Cersei said with a smile, turning. "We need to have a talk that's long overdue."

Selene warily took a seat beside her mother at the table while the queen poured. She was only allowed wine at feasts. Selene waited until Cersei drank first to sip her wine. Her mother seemed to find that amusing.

"It's time you learn what's expected of you as a wife in the bedchamber."

Selene snorted her wine in surprise, blushing furiously. She grabbed a cloth and wiped at her dress. Her mother had never talked to her about this before. _Why now?_ Selene thought.

Cersei smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "What do you know of the bedding ceremony?"

Selene swallowed, "The bedding ceremony is a tradition that provides evidence that the bride and bridegroom have consummated their marriage."

"That's a perfect definition, but do you know what comes after?"

Selene took a long gulp of wine, "Consummation."

Cersei grinned, "Yes, my dear. Consummation. Are you afraid?"

Could the queen finally be reaching out to her? For a moment, Selene felt like an ordinary girl, getting womanly advice from her mother. She nodded tentatively.

The queen leaned forward, like she knew every secret in the world, "It's nothing to fear. A bit of pain in the beginning, but you will come to enjoy yourself. With time."

Selene smiled timidly at her mother for what seemed like the first time in years. "I'm lucky. Robb Stark is a handsome boy of my age. I could have been given to some old man," she jested as she drank more wine, trying to keep up with her mother's pace.

The queen took a long sip. "Oh, you will not be marrying Robb Stark," she said coolly.

Selene's head snapped up, the wine making her feel slow, "Father has changed his mind?"

Cersei sipped, "Lady Stark has taken my brother hostage. Lord Stark has attacked my other brother on the streets on King's Landing. You still want to marry into this family?" Her eyes were hard.

Selene drank wine to buy time.

"I feel a union between Robb Stark and I would smooth tensions and avoid war."

"You want to avoid war."

Selene straightened in her chair, "You do not?"

Cersei took a long drink.

"What other suitors-"

"Theon Greyjoy," Her mother interrupted. "I hear the Iron Islands are lovely."

Selene's jaw dropped. "His father is a traitor!" she couldn't help raising her voice. "Father will never agree to it."

"Your union would ensure his loyalty to the crown," Cersei said. "And as for your father…" she glanced away, then straightened in her seat and looked back at Selene, "I'm taking care of it."

Selene glanced at the empty vases on the table and back to her mother's wine stained lips. Cersei had drunk more than she was letting on.

"He does not love you," the queen said softly, almost sad.

"What?" Selene asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"Robert…" Her mother's words were slightly slurred, "He's incapable of it. Everything he's ever done for you. It was never out of love. It was out of spite for me."

"That's a lie," Selene's said loudly.

Cersei shook her head knowingly, golden curls swaying. Selene remembered how Robert used to take her hunting despite of Cersei's protests. She remembered how Renly's implication of Cersei's rage led to the king allowing her to keep Eleni. She remembered how eloquently Jaime had argued for her to be trained in front of the court all those years ago, and how Cersei's objections seemed to fuel Robert's decision.

"You're lying!" Selene said through tears.

Her mother's face was stone.

Selene's head was swimming, her breaths sharp, and soon tears were cascading down her cheeks, "I…I don't know what I did to make you hate me." Her throat felt like it was closing.

Cersei's eyes were dry and far away. Minutes passed in silence. Selene thought maybe her mother had gone mute until she whispered. "You were my first." A small smile fluttered on the queen's face. "My firstborn. I didn't even care how Baratheon you looked...you were _mine_. My black lioness." The queen looked away. "Piss on your prophecy, old woman," she mumbled.

Selene leaned forward, but stayed quiet, not wanting to break the spell that had come over her mother.

The queen was deep in her memories. speaking so softly Selene strained to hear, "You will share only one….a silver reflection…a moon that will cloak herself in wolfskin…beloved of the _valonquar…_ and you will know betrayal…"

Selene was holding her breath.

The queen seemed to remember where she was. She looked at Selene blankly, "Get out."

###

Selene didn't know where she was going, but she was walking as quickly as she could. Her hands were still shaking, but now it was because of her mother.

_What prophecy?_ she thought. Her mother was speaking gibberish.

Selene stumbled upon her siblings in the great courtyard. Joffrey and Tommen were practicing their archery, Joffrey wielding a crossbow, Tommen a traditional bow. Eleni watched over Tommen and Myrcella as the latter sat petting the lioness.

Tommen's arrow missed. Joffrey scoffed.

"You're pathetic."

"I am _not._ "

"The only pathetic one here is you," Selene said.

Tommen ran and hugged her tightly around the waist.

Joffrey laughed, "Yes, the brave prince, hiding behind his sister's skirts."

Selene narrowed her eyes at him, "I seem to remember you hiding behind mother's skirts just the other day, brother." The anger on his face was delicious to her. Selene looked down at Tommen.

"Go to Myrcella," she said with a caress of his chubby face. He smiled up at her and ran to Eleni. Without a word, Selene grabbed a bow and a quiver of arrows. She grabbed the bow more firmly than she meant to, and remembered how much wine she drank. She eyed Joffrey harshly and stood meters away from a target board. In one smooth motion, Selene drew an arrow, notched, and let it fly.

The arrow hit the very tip of the board. A terrible shot. She cursed herself for practicing while the wine clouded her mind, but she couldn't let Joffrey torture Tommen.

Joffrey smirked, loaded his crossbow, and fired on his own board. It was a bullseye. The smug look he gave sent her over the edge.

The wine did not help her temper either.

"It's easy to hit a still target," Selene spat.

"I'll give you a head start."

Selene's sword came singing from it's scabbard, "Say that with steel in your hand."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Eleni jump to her feet.

Joffrey looked at Selene uncertainly. She smirked. He may have had more skill with a crossbow, but even drunk, her swordsmanship was far better.

"Dog," her brother called, "My sword."

Sandor Clegane walked forward and handed Joffrey his blade. The Hound looked between the two siblings.

"Forgive me, Your Graces, but this is a bad idea."

"I am the prince and I'll do as I like!" Joffrey shouted to his dog. "Even if it means I have to teach this insolent bitch a lesson."

Selene threw herself forward, bringing down Stormsbane with all her rage. Joffrey raised his sword meekly to block her, but with a grunt, she sent his blade away. He was helpless before her, and all she could see was all the times he had tortured Tommen and Myrcella, all the times he had enjoyed their mother's love when she had not.

She slashed his face open in a black rage.

Joffrey fell back with a cry of pain, blood spilling over his clothes.

Eleni leapt forward, lording over Joffrey's body, daring him to rise.

Suddenly the Hound's arms were around her, pulling her away. Her sword clattered to the floor.

"Enough!" Clegane yelled.

Blood was pounding hard in her ears, and all she wanted to do was continue fighting, to end his reign of terror before it truly began.

"Look at him!" The Hound barked.

Selene did. Joffrey was lying on his back, fingers tracing his face lightly. It was a surface wound, but the scar would be ugly and go across his left cheek, ruining his perfect little face.

"Arrest her!" Joffrey screamed. He tried to rise but Eleni's growl kept him down, "She tried to kill me!"

Ser Barristan was by her side, "Come with me, princess." With a glance from Selmy, Clegane let her go.

Selene followed Selmy, glancing at Tommen and Myrcella. They looked frightened. Selene hoped with all her heart that it wasn't her they were scared of.

Once they turned a corner, Ser Barristan rounded on her, "What do you think you're doing?"

"I was sparring with my brother," her words slurred a bit.

Ser Barristan's eyes narrowed, "Are you drunk?"

Selene shook her head stubbornly, the action causing her to turn to one side and retch.

Selmy stood there uncertainly for a moment, but soon he was rubbing her back in kindness.

Selene looked down in a haze and saw deep red splotches on the floor. "I'll clean it up," she offered.

Barristan was about to laugh, but forced himself to be serious, "Why were you drinking so much at this hour?"

"My mother asked me to."

Selmy raised a brow, "And you tried to drink as much as her?" Selene nodded. He sighed, "Do you feel better now?"

Selene desperately needed to rinse her mouth, but her mind did feel a lot clearer since ridding of the wine. She gave Selmy another nod.

"Good, because Lord Stark has woken up."


	19. Black of Hair

Northern guards barred her entry.

"Let me in," Princess Selene commanded.

Their sterns faces wouldn't budge. "The king and queen are in there with Lord Stark. They are not to be disturbed."

Selene took a step forward. "The king sent for me himself," she lied. "Do either of you want to be the one to tell him that you turned away his own daughter and disobeyed his orders?"

They stepped aside.

Selene barged in to her father's shouts. " _Silence,"_ he was saying to Cersei. The king had taken the time to dress. He wore a black velvet doublet with the crowned stag of House Baratheon emblazoned with golden thread. A flagon of wine was in his hand, and Cersei was beside him, a bejeweled tiara in her hair. Lord Stark was sitting up in bed, his leg elevated by pillows.

All eyes fell on her.

"She shouldn't be here," Cersei said quickly.

"She's a witness," Lord Stark countered. "She saw Jaime butcher my men."

The king rounded on Ned. "And _why_ did you think it fit to take my daughter to a brothel?"

"He didn't," Selene interjected. She slowly walked past her parents and stood by Ned's side. "I was writing a letter to his son, my betrothed," At the word 'betrothed,' Selene gave her mother a hard look, "I wanted to speak with Lord Stark about Robb. I waited outside."

"What a lie—" her mother started when Robert interrupted.

"Selene is not the one on trial here."

"You are right," Ned said, eyeing Selene. "Jaime Lannister is. Almost a dozen of my men were killed before my eyes because he wished to _chasten_ me. Am I to forget that?"

"My brother was not the cause of this quarrel," Cersei told the king. "Lord Stark was returning drunk from a brothel when his men attacked Jaime."

"That's not what happened!" Selene protested.

"Then what did happen, girl?" Robert said, and Selene could hear the storm brewing in his voice. "Speak the truth."

Selene glanced at Ned and took a deep breath.

"Lord Stark was there to have a look on your daughter."

Robert flushed, her mother's face was emotionless, but Selene continued, "Her mother has named her Barra."

"Barra," the king grumbled. "Is that supposed to please me? Damn the girl. I thought she had more sense."

"She cannot be more than fifteen, and a whore, and you thought she had more _sense_?" Ned said, incredulous. "The fool child is in love with you, Robert."

The king glanced between his wife and his trueborn daughter, "This is not a fit subject for their ears."

"I am afraid Her Grace the queen will have no liking for anything I am about to say," Ned replied. "I am told the Kingslayer has fled the city. Give me leave to bring him back to justice."

The king swirled his wine, brooding. He took a swallow, "No. I want no more of this. Jaime has slew your men, and you some of his. Now it ends."

"Is that your notion of justice?" Ned flared. "If so, I am pleased I am no longer your Hand."

The queen looked at her husband. "If any man had dared speak to a Targaryen as he has spoken to you—"

"Do you take me for Aerys?" Robert interrupted.

"I took you for a _king_. Jaime and Tyrion are your own brothers, by all the laws of marriage and the bonds we share. The Starks have driven off one and abducted the other. This man dishonors you with every breath he takes. He has even influenced your own daughter, convincing her to kill men of her mother's household."

Robert glanced at Selene, "You killed a man." It wasn't a question.

Selene hesitated, "I did not mean to. I saw a sword heading toward Lord Stark. I was just trying to protect him. He's to be my father by marriage."

When Robert didn't question her, Cersei's glared at him with contempt, "What a jape the gods have made of us two. I should wear the armor and you the gown."

Purple with rage, the king lashed out, a vicious backhand blow to the side of her head. Selene couldn't stop the gasp of surprise that escaped her lips. The queen stumbled against the table and fell hard, yet Cersei Lannister did not cry out. Her slender fingers brushed her cheek, where the pale smooth skin was already reddening. On the morrow, the bruise would cover half of her face, "I shall wear this like a badge of honor."

Selene couldn't help feeling impressed by her mother's will.

"Wear it in silence, or I'll honor you again," Robert vowed.

Cersei glanced at Ned and her daughter and left the room with a slam of the door. Selene almost felt sorry for her mother. Almost.

Robert turned back to Ned, "Do you see what she does to me? My loving wife." The king poured himself another glass and sat down. He looked at Selene, "I should not have hit her. It wasn't _kingly._ " The king looked down at his hands, as if unsure what they were, "I was always strong…no one could stand before me, no one. How do you fight someone if you can't hit them?" Confused, he shook his head, "Rhaegar…Rhaegar _won,_ damn him. I killed him. I drove the spike right through that black armor into is black heart, and he died at my feet. They made up songs about it. Yet, somehow he still won. He has Lyanna now, and I have _her._ " The king glared angrily at the door as if her mother was on the other side.

Ned glanced uncertainly at Selene, "Your Grace…your children…"

The king looked at Selene, his eyes softening, "They all remind me of their damn mother, except Selene." A hint of a smile. "My warrior."

"We must talk…" Ned Stark said to the king.

"Agreed," Selene interrupted. "Tyrion is innocent and—"

Robert pressed his fingertips against his temples. "I am sick unto death of talk. On the morrow, we are going to the kingswood to hunt. Whatever you have to say can wait until I return."

"If the gods are good, I shall not be here on your return. You commanded me to return to Winterfell, remember? I would take Princess Selene with me, to spend time with my son before their marriage."

Robert stood up slowly, using the bedposts to steady himself, "The gods are seldom good, Ned. Here, this is yours," he threw the Hand's badge of office on the pillows beside Ned. "Like it or not, you are my Hand, damn you. I forbid you to leave. And Selene stays. My daughter has her whole life to spend in the damn north, there's no rush."

Ned picked up the silver clasp, "The Targaryen girl—"

The king groaned, "Seven hells, don't start with that again. That's done. I'll hear no more of it."

"Why would you want me as your Hand, if you refuse to listen to my council?"

"Why?" Robert laughed. "Why not? Someone has to rule this damnable kingdom. Put on the badge, Ned. It suits you. And if you ever throw it in my face again, I swear to you, I'll pin the damn thing on Jaime Lannister." He threw open the door to leave. "Selene, with me." She gave Ned a deep bow and followed her father out the door.

Cersei Lannister was striding through the hall, eyes locked on Selene.

"I thought you left," Robert said.

Cersei ignored him. When the queen reached her daughter, she brought her palm down hard on Selene's face.

Selene cried out, mostly in surprise, and went reeling.

" _What is the meaning of this_?" Robert boomed, looking at Cersei savagely.

The queen's eyes were dark with rage, "She mutilated my son. Cut his face open with that damned sword of hers. I should have never let her learn how to wield it."

Selene was seeing spots as she looked at her mother. A stranger looked back. Selene lifted her chin. It was time to let go of any notion that Cersei would someday love her as much as she did her other children.

"It was not your decision to make," Selene said evenly.

Cersei turned to Robert, "You see how she speaks to me? Her mother? She _butchered_ our son!"

Robert turned to Selene, "What happened?"

"They were sparring," Cersei interjected. "She disarmed him, and instead of dropping her sword she sliced at his face like a brute. Her lioness kept him down on the ground as if he were prey."

"I asked _her_ , not you," Robert said in a low voice, looking back at Selene.

"It was an accident," Selene lied. How could she tell her father the truth, that she had been furious and drunk. "I didn't mean to—"

" _Liar,"_ Cersei hissed.

" _Enough,_ " Robert said. "She said it was an accident. I believe her. Accidents happen when you spar. That's the end of it." Robert made a move to leave.

"So no punishment?" Cersei called at his back, "No justice for your son?"

"What would you have me do?" Robert replied. "Whip her through the streets? She's just a girl." Robert looked back to Selene, "You are no longer invited to hunt with me tomorrow." He turned to Cersei, "Satisfied?"

"And what of the lion?" Cersei demanded. "What of the beast that threatened your son's life?"

"Eleni didn't _do_ anything," Selene insisted. Robert fell quiet. Her heart pounded in her chest. "Father, Eleni did not bite or scratch or do _anything_ to Joffrey. She's innocent."

Robert looked at his daughter, and Selene saw sadness in his eyes. She shook her head slowly, "No…no… _no..._ "

"I warned you, Selene. In the kingswood years ago, I warned you if that lion ever—"

"She didn't do anything!" Selene yelled.

Cersei smiled triumphantly.

Selene fell to her knees in front of her father. "Please," she mumbled, "I'll do anything…spare her life."

Robert looked at Cersei with hatred, and then down at his daughter, "Arise, Selene. Lock the beast in the stables for now. It is no longer allowed to walk free. You will release it back into the wild."

Selene nodded, relief flooding her like a wave.

"Thank you, thank you," Selene murmured as her father stalked away. Her mother gave her one last close lipped smile, and followed him.

###

Through the high narrow windows of the Red Keep's throne room, the light of sunset spilled across the floor, laying dark red stripes upon the walls where the heads of dragons had once hung. Now the stone was covered with tapestries, vivid with greens and browns and blues, and yet still it seemed to Selene that the only color in the hall was the red of blood. Ned Stark sat high upon the immense ancient seat of Aegon the Conqueror, an ironwork monstrosity of spikes and jagged edges and grotesquely twisted metal. Selene stood above them all from the viewing gallery. Her father had to rescind her invitation to hunt, but she was going to ask to stay in the capital anyway. War was so near she could almost taste it. She didn't have the heart to hunt.

Petitioners were standing around the Keep, waiting for an audience with the Hand. They were pleading with Ned about something, but Selene's mind was on the letter she received from Robb.

_Theon thinks I should call the banners._ She shivered involuntarily, the mention of Theon reminding her of Cersei's threat to send her to the Iron Islands. With the murder of his father's men and the attack on Ned, Robb had every reason to call the banners. And where would they go? To Casterly Rock or King's Landing? What would her father the king do then, with a Stark army at his doors and a Lannister army safe behind his walls?

_I cannot let this be forgotten. I fear for my father and my sisters, and for you. I wish you were all here with me in Winterfell, safe. I pray to the gods for your swift return._

Selene had written back something similar. How tired she was of the capital and how she longed to begin a new life in the north, but the words felt hollow.

The wails below brought her back into the throne room. The west had become a tinderbox since Catelyn Stark had seized Tyrion. Both Riverrun and Casterly Rock had called their banners, and armies were massing in the pass below the Golden Tooth. It was only a matter of time until the blood began to flow. The sole question that remained was how best to staunch the wound.

" _The Mountain,_ " a knight said accusingly. "Can any man doubt it? This was Gregor Clegane's work."

Whispers erupted throughout the hall. Low and highborn alike all knowing what that would mean if proven true. Clegane stood bannerman to Lord Tywin Lannister. These poor villages had been dragged to the throne room to point blame on Lord Tywin, the king's own father by marriage. Small wonder they shivered in their boots.

"Why should Ser Gregor turn brigand?" Pycelle asked from the council's table below the throne. Only Pycelle, Littlefinger, and Varys were there as the rest had gone hunting with the king. "The man is an anointed knight."

"A false knight!" said Ser Marq. "Lord Tywin's mad dog."

"My lord Hand," Pycelle declared in a stiff voice. "I urge you to remind this _good_ knight that Lord Tywin Lannister is the father of our own gracious queen."

"Thank you, Grand Maester Pycelle," Ned said. "I fear we might have forgotten that if you had not pointed it out."

Selene smiled. From the corner of her eye she saw Sansa and Septa Mordane in the gallery. Sansa was wearing an ornate dress of deep blue and her hair in an intricate southern style. Selene approached them.

"May I sit here, my lady?" Selene asked Sansa. The young girl nodded, but did not speak.

"I take it you've heard of my spar with Joffrey," Selene said as she sat down.

The girl's blue eyes were full of confusion, "You helped Father, but you hurt Prince Joffrey…"

"It was an accident," Selene lied. It had been easier to lie to her mother and father, but Sansa was so innocent and trusting. "Besides, it was not a deep cut. Now he'll have a scar that will make him all the more handsome." In trying to cheer Sansa up, Selene suddenly felt the need to retch all over again.

Sansa gave her a tentative smile.

At the council table, Petyr Baelish lost interest in his quill and leaned forward. "Ser Marq, Ser Karyl, Ser Raymun, perhaps I might ask you a question? These holdfasts were under your protection. Where were you when all this slaughtering and burning was going on?"

Ser Karyl Vance answered, "I was attending my lord father in the pass below the Golden Tooth, as was Ser Marq. When the word of these outages reached Ser Edmure Tully, he sent word that we should take a small force of men to find what survivors we could and bring them to the king.

Ser Raymun Darry spoke up, "Ser Edmure had summoned me to Riverrun with all my strength. I was camped across the river from his walls, awaiting his commands, when the word reached me. By the time I could return to my own lands, Clegane and his vermin were back across the Red Ford, riding for Lannister's hills.

Littlefinger stroked the point of his beard thoughtfully, "And if they come again, ser?"

"If they come again, we'll use their blood to water the fields they burnt," Ser Marq Piper declared hotly,

Selene glanced at Septa Mordane, "Perhaps today is not a good day for the Lady Sansa to be here."

The Septa opened her mouth, but Sansa was quicker, "I want to be here."

"Ser Edmure has sent men to every village and holdfast within a day's ride of the border," Ser Karyl was explaining. "The next raider will not have such an easy time of it."

_And that may be precisely what Tywin wants,_ Selene thought to herself in a voice that sounded strangely like Tyrion, _to bleed strength from Riverrun, goad the boy Edmure into scattering his swords._ She had heard about Edmure Tully. The young man was on the list of potential suitors for Selene as the future lord of the riverlands. After her marriage to Robb, Edmure will be her uncle by law.

"The lords of the Trident keep the king's peace," said Raymun Darry. "The Lannisters have broken it. We ask for leave to answer them, steel for steel. We ask justice for the smallfolk of Sherrer, Wendish Town, and the Mummer's Ford."

Grand Maester Pycelle was on his feet, "My lord Hand, if these good folk believe that Ser Gregor Clegane has forsaken his holy vow for plunder and rape, let them go to his liege lord and make their complaint. These crimes are no concern of the throne. Let them seek Lord Tywin's justice."

"It is all the king's justice," Ned told him. "North, south, east, west, all we do we do in Robert's name."

"The _king's_ justice," Pycelle repeated. "So it is, and so we should defer this matter until the king—"

"The king is hunting across the river and may not return for days," Lord Eddard said. "Robert bid me to sit here in his place, to listen with his ears, and to speak with his voice. I mean to do just that. I cannot give you back your homes, or restore your dead to life. But perhaps I can give you justice, in the name of our king, Robert." Slowly Ned struggled to his feet, pushing himself up with the help of a cane. "The First Men believed that the judge who called for death should wield the sword, and in the north we hold to that still. I mislike sending another to do my killing…yet it seems I have no choice." He gestured at his broken leg.

"Lord Beric Dondarrion, you shall have the command. Assemble one hundred men and ride to Ser Gregor's keep."

The young lord with the red-gold hair bowed, "As you command, Lord Eddard."

Ned raised his voice, "In the name of Robert of the House Barartheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of House Stark, his Hand, I charge you to ride to the westlands with all haste, to cross the Red Fork under the king's flag, and there bring the king's justice to the false knight Gregor Clegane, and to all those who shared in his crimes. I denounce him, and attaint him, and strip him of all rank and titles, of all lands and incomes and holdings, and do sentence him to death."

The crowed murmured with surprise.

"This is rather hasty, my lord," Pycelle said as he stood up shakily. "It would be best if—"

"Grand Maester Pycelle," Ned said. "Send a raven to Casterly Rock. Inform Tywin Lannister that he has been summoned to court to answer for the crimes of his bannerman. He will arrive within the fortnight or be branded an enemy of the crown and a traitor of the realm."

Selene gasped, along with half of the people present. This was a dangerous move. Ned went to leave, Littlefinger following and whispering in his ear as closely as a shadow.

Sansa turned to Selene. "Isn't Lord Tywin your grandfather?"

Selene swallowed, "Yes, sweet girl. He is." She had met her grandfather several times, many of them traveling west with her family to Casterly Rock to visit. Her earliest memories of him were his pale green eyes, flaxen hair, and great height. He had never been warm to her or her siblings, and from what Tyrion said, Tywin was a man without compassion.

A northern guard approached Sansa and Selene. "My lady Sansa, your father requests your presence in his office. He also told me to invite you, Princess Selene, if I could find you."

###

"I'm sending you both back to Winterfell," Lord Stark said to his two daughters. With a glance at Selene, he added, "And you too, princess. Robert is too attached to you. I'll persuade him to let you go. You'll be safer in the north."

Selene nodded.

The Stark girls were less understanding.

"You _can't_ , _"_ Arya said.

"Please, Father," Sansa begged. "Please don't."

Lord Stark almost smiled, "At least you two finally agree on something."

"I didn't do anything wrong," Sansa pleaded. "I don't want to go back. Send Arya away, she started it, Father, I swear it. I'll be good, you'll see, just let me stay and I promise to be as fine and noble and courteous as the queen."

Ned's mouth twisted, "Sansa, I'm not sending you away for fighting, though the gods know I'm sick of you two squabbling. I want you back in Winterfell for your own safety. My men were cut down like dogs not a league from where we sit, and what does Robert do? He goes _hunting_."

Arya chewed her lip, "Can we take Syrio back with us?"

"Who cares about your stupid _dancing master_?" Sansa flared. "Father, I _can't_ go. I'm to marry Prince Joffrey. I love him, Father. I truly do. I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian. I want to be his queen and have his babies."

" _Seven hells,_ " Arya swore.

Selene couldn't help speaking up at this. "Sansa, Joffrey is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me."

"What do _you_ know?" Sansa raged. "You hate the prince. You cut him with your sword!"

"The princess is right," Ned said. "Sweet girl, listen to me. When you are old enough, I will make you a match with someone who is worthy of you. Someone brave and gentle and strong."

"I don't want someone brave and gentle and strong, I want _him,_ " Sansa argued. Selene's eyes found Arya's and they both suppressed smiles at Sansa's wording. "I'll give him a son with golden hair, and one day he'll be the king of all the realm, the greatest king that ever was, as proud as the lion."

Arya made a face, "The lion is not his sigil, idiot. He's a stag, like his father."

Tears glistened in Sansa's eyes, "He is _not!_ He is nothing like that old drunk king."

Selene looked at Ned, but his eyes were faraway. " _Gods_ ," he swore softly. "Out of the mouth of babes…" He shouted for Septa Mordane. To his daughters he said, "I'm looking for a ship to take you home. These days, the sea is safer than the kingsroad. You will sail as soon as I can find a proper ship, with Septa Mordane and a complement of guards…and yes, with Syrio Forel if he agrees to enter my service. But say nothing of this. It's better if no one knows of our plans. We'll talk again tomorrow."

As Septa Mordan lead the two girls out of the room, Selene could hear Arya trying to cheer her sister up, "It won't be so bad, Sansa. We're going to sail on a galley. It will be an adventure, and then we'll be with Bran and Robb again…" The door shut behind them.

Ned hobbled to his desk wordlessly, reaching for the giant leather bound book.

"My lord?" Selene asked. She had never seen Ned with that look in his eyes. He opened the book, flipping quickly to the page he was looking for. Selene stood over his shoulder. He landed on House Baratheon.

"What's happened, my lord?"

He ignored her.

"Lord Orys Baratheon…black of hair," he murmured, fingers tracing the pages lightly. "Lyonel Baratheon…black of hair…Steffon Baratheon…black of hair…Robert Baratheon…black of hair…Selene Baratheon...black of hair...Joffrey Baratheon…golden haired." He leaned back in his chair and looked up at her in shock. His eyes weren't on her face, but on her hair.

Selene was shaking her head, "I don't understand."

"Forgive me, princess," he said softly.

"There's nothing to forgive," Selene said. "What is there to forgive?"

Ned Stark looked at her sadly, "I must bring this to Robert. He needs to know."

Selene was losing her patience, "Please, Lord Eddard, you're scaring me. What does he need to know?"

"You are the heir to the Iron Throne."


	20. You Win or You Die

Selene Baratheon waited in the quiet of the godswood. It was peaceful here. The thick walls shut out the clamor of the castle, and she could hear birds singing, the murmur of crickets, and leaves rustling in a gentle wind. The heart tree was an oak, brown and faceless, yet she felt the presence of the old gods, like she had in the north. She wasn't very religious, and the Faith of the Seven never held much appeal to her, but the old gods felt real enough.

Ned Stark had wanted to come, but Selene knew this was something she needed to do alone.

She came at sunset, as the clouds reddened above the walls and towers, and she came alone. For once she was dressed simply, in leather boots and hunting green. When she drew back the hood of her cloak, Selene saw the bruise where the king had struck her. The angry plum color had faded to yellow, and the swelling was down. Selene shared a face bruise as well, but hers was smaller and browning.

"Why here?" Cersei Lannister asked as she stood over her daughter.

"So the gods can see."

The queen sat beside the princess on the grass. Cersei's every move was graceful. Her curling blond hair moved in the wind, and her eyes were green as summer leaves. Selene had almost forgotten how beautiful her mother was.

"I know the truth Jon Arryn died for."

"Do you?" The queen watched her face, wary as a cat, "Is that why you called me hear, child? To pose me riddles? Or do you intend to run me through with your sword, as you did Joffrey?"

"If you truly believed that, you would not have come." Selene eyed Cersei's bruise. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. Has he done this before?"

"Once or twice. Never on the face. Jaime would have killed him, even if it meant his own life." Cersei looked defiant, "My brother is worth a hundred of your father."

"Your brother," Selene asked, "or your lover?"

"Both," She did not flinch from the truth. "Since we were children together. And why not? The Targaryens wed brother and sister for three hundred years to keep bloodlines pure. And Jaime and I are more than brother and sister. We are one person in two bodies. We shared a womb together. He came into this world holding my foot, our old maester said." The ghost of a smile fluttered over her lips.

When all the pieces finally fit together in her head, Selene should have been furious and revolted. But in truth, Selene felt an immense sadness. For the first time in her life, she understood her mother. She finally knew the reason for those years of angry looks and cutting words. Why her golden children were the queen's pride and joy, while Selene was nothing to her. Understanding didn't make it hurt any less.

"You loved me once," Selene said softly. "You told me so yourself. What made you stop?"

For a second, Selene thought her mother would ignore her, but then she said, "Robert loves you, and only you. Your siblings and I mean _nothing._ But you…he would give you the world if he could. He put a sword in your hand when all anyone would ever give me was needles. He thinks you get your spirit from him, but you are like me." Cersei sighed, "Beautiful and willful, a silver reflection."

_Silver reflection._ "The prophecy—"

Cersei's head tilted in confusion and her brows furrowed. It was so believable, except her eyes flashed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Selene sighed. She would have to find out another way. One day, but not today.

"Bran Stark…"

Cersei did not look away, "He saw me and Jaime. I know how you feel about Joffrey, but do you love Tommen and Myrcella?"

Selene straightened, "With all my heart."

"No more than I do."

_If it came to that,_ Selene thought to herself, _the life of some child I did not know, against Tommen and Myrcella, what would I do?_ She prayed she would never have to find out.

"Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen…they are all Jaime's." It was not a question.

"Thank the gods."

_The seed is strong,_ Jon Arryn had cried on his deathbed, and so it was. All those bastards with hair as black as night. Grand Maester Malleon recorded the last mating between stag and lion, some ninety years ago, when Tya Lannister wed Gowen Baratheon, third son of the reigning lord. Their only child died in infancy and was black of hair. Thirty years before that a male Lannister had taken a Baratheon maid to wife. She had given him three daughters and a son, each black-haired. No matter how far she and Ned looked in those brittle yellow pages, the gold always yielded to coal. One of Selene's first memories was playing with her mother's golden hair. She remembered wishing she shared her mother's locks, but now…she was more grateful for her dark hair than words could possibly express.

"Fourteen years," Selene said. "How is it that you have only one child by my father?"

"You were conceived on the wedding night. I did my duty, and then I was done." Cersei lifted her heard, "If truth be told, I can scarcely bear for him to touch me, and have not been with him in years. When he leaves his whores long enough to stagger up to my bedchamber, I find other ways. The king is usually too drunk and forgets everything by the next morning."

Selene swallowed. How could they have all been so blind? The truth was there in front of them, written on the children's faces. Selene felt sick, "I've heard stories about my father in his youth. He was every inch a king. Thousands of women would have loved him with all their hearts. What did he ever do to make you hate him so?"

Her mother's green eyes burned, "The night of our wedding feast, the first time we shared a bed, he called me by a different name. He crawled on me, stinking of wine, and whispered _Lyanna._ " Cersei glanced away angrily. "That she-wolf was a corpse and I was a living girl and he loved her more than me."

Selene knew of the tale of Lyanna Stark. In another life perhaps, Lyanna would have been her mother. Robert was promised to Ned Stark's sister, until Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped her. It had been the spark that lit Robert's Rebellion. And the king may have won the battles, but he lost the war for what he truly wanted. The day Lyanna died, she took a piece of Robert with her that Selene would never see.

"You know what I must do."

" _Must_?" Cersei repeated with disdain. "Yes, I do. You must be loyal to your family."

"And what if my mother's family is against my father's?" Selene said in a hard voice. "What am I to do then?"

Cersei hesitated, "You must do what is best for the realm."

Selene snorted, " _King Joffrey is what's best for the realm_? Mother, you know what he truly is. Can you look me in the eyes and honestly tell me that Joffrey will be a decent king?"

Cersei flared, "And you want to be queen out of the goodness of your heart? You are ambition dressed as duty."

"I never wanted the Iron Throne," Selene replied. In truth, she never envied Joffrey his title of crown prince. She enjoyed the idea of being the Lady of Winterfell more. A modest castle, a quieter life surrounded by children that are happy and safe…that was what Selene truly wanted. But now it was her duty to her father, her house, and the realm to rule from the most uncomfortable chair in the Seven Kingdoms. "I just wanted Winterfell."

"And here is your chance," Cersei offered. "Convince Ned Stark to wed his daughter to Joffrey and make him leave the capital. He can live out his days in that grey wasteland he calls home." Her eyes flashed, "And you can go with him. Marry into that wild family, far away from here and live your quiet little life, if you so desperately want it. All you need do," Cersei's smile was as bright as dawn, "is bend the knee."

"I would have, you know, once. Before I knew the truth." Selene stood. "I shall say this only once. When my father returns from the hunt, I intend to lay the truth before him. You must be gone by then. You, Joffrey," Selene took a deep breath, "Tommen, and Myrcella, and not to Casterly Rock. If I were you, I would take a ship for the Free Cities, or even farther, to the Summer Isles. As far as the winds blow."

"Exile," Cersei said. "A bitter cup to drink from."

"A sweeter cup than grandfather served Rhaeger's children," Selene reminded her, bile rising in her throat at the thought of those poor Targaryen babes, "and kinder than you deserve. Grandfather and Jaime would do well to go with you. Tywin's gold will buy you comfort and hire swords to protect you. You shall need them. I promise you, no matter where you flee, Robert's wrath will follow you."

"And what of my wrath, Selene?" the queen asked softly. "You intend to spill the blood of your family. Do you think the realm will support you once you claim yourself queen over a trueborn son?"

"Joffrey is no trueborn son," Selene said fiercely, "and I am no kinslayer. By all the laws you should be executed for treason, but I will not stand by and let Tommen and Myrcella grieve for the sake of you. You will take them, you will run, and you will live."

"I intend on doing more than just living," Cersei said as she stood. "When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground." She turned up the hood to hide her swollen face and left Selene in the dark benath the oak, amidst the quiet of the godswood, under a blue-black sky. The stars were coming out.

###

The stars were out in full when Selene was telling Ned Stark all that had transpired between her and Cersei.

"Ned!" Renly cried out from the other side of the courtyard. "Selene!" She turned and saw him running toward them, his black doublet soaked with blood.

"It's Robert…we were hunting…a boar."

One moment Selene was standing still, the next she was running at a full sprint to the royal apartments. She could hear Ned's cane tapping the ground behind her as he walked as quick as he was able, but Selene did not wait. She hiked up her skirts and ran as fast as she could, her long hair swinging behind her.

The royal apartments were in Maegor's Holdfast, a massive square fortress nestled in the heart of the Red Keep behind walls twelve feet thick and a dry moat lined with iron spikes, a castle within a castle. She had spent most of her childhood here, and despite the heat of the city, she felt cold all over.

Selene passed several members of the Kingsguard, too scared to look on any of their faces. Finally, she saw Ser Barristan Selmy waiting outside the door of the king's bedchamber. His face was as pale as his armor, which was smeared with blood, and she only had to look at him to know that something was dreadfully wrong. The royal steward opened the door. "Princess Selene Bara—" he announced as she shoved past him.

"Father!" Selene cried when she entered the room. Fires blazed in the twin hearths at either end of the bedchamber, filling the room with a sullen red glare. The heat within was suffocating. Robert lay across the canopied bed. At the bedside hovered Grand Maester Pycelle, while servants moved back and forth, feeding logs to the fire and boiling wine. Cersei Lannister sat on the edge of the bed beside her husband. Her hair was tousled, as if from sleep, but there was nothing sleepy in her eyes. They followed Selene as Renly came rushing in.

The king still wore his boots. Selene could see dried mud and blades of grass clinging to the leather where Robert's feet stuck out beneath the blanket that covered him. A green doublet lay on the floor, slashed open and discarded, the cloth crusted with red-brown stains. The room smelled of smoke and blood and death.

"Selene," the king whispered when he saw her. His face was as pale as milk. "Come…closer."

Selene stepped closer, sitting by her father's side opposite her mother. She felt Cersei's eyes on her, but all she could do was look down on her father. "What…" she began, throat clenching.

Ned Stark finally entered the room, hobbling on his cane.

"A boar," Lord Renly said from where he was pacing by the window.

"A devil," the king husked. "My own fault. Too much wine. Missed my thrust."

"And where were the rest of you?" Selene demanded angrily at her uncle. "Where was the Kingsguard?"

Renly's mouth twitched, "My brother commanded us to stand aside and let him take the boar alone."

Selene lifted the blanket and suppressed a cry.

They had done what they could to close him up, but it was nowhere near enough. The boar must have been a fearsome thing. It had ripped the king from groin to nipple with its tusks. The wine-soaked bandages that Grand Maester Pycelle had applied were already black with blood, and the smell of the wound was hideous. Selene's stomach turned as she let the blanket fall.

"Stinks," Robert said. "The stink of death, don't think I can't smell it. Bastard did me good, eh? But I…I paid him back in kind." The king's smile was as terrible as his wound, his teeth red with blood. "Drove a knife right though his eye. Ask them if I didn't. Ask them."

"Truly," Renly murmured. "We brought the carcass back with us, at my brother's command."

"For the feast," Robert whispered. "Now leave us. The lot of you. I need to speak with Ned. Selene," he added, "you can stay."

She smiled as much as she was able, and intertwined her fingers with his.

"Robert, my sweet…" Cersei began.

"I said _leave_ ," Robert insisted with a hint of his old fierceness.

Cersei gathered up her skirts and her dignity and led the way to the door. Lord Renly and the others followed. Pycelle lingered, his hands shaking as he offered the king a cup of thick white liquid. "The milk of the poppy, Your Grace," he said, "Drink. For your pain."

Robert knocked the cup away with the back of his hand. "Away with you. I'll sleep soon enough. Get out."

"Damn you, Robert," Ned said when they were alone. He looked like his leg was still giving him pain. "Why do you always have to be so headstrong?"

"Ah, fuck you, Ned," The king said hoarsely. "I killed the bastard, didn't I?" A lock of matted black hair fell across his eyes as he glared up at Ned. "Ought to do the same for you. Can't leave a man to hunt in peace. Gregor's head. Ugly thought. Never told the Hound. Let Cersei surprise him." His laugh turned into a grunt as a spasm of pain hit him. "Gods have mercy," he muttered, swallowing his agony, "The girl. Daenerys. Only a child, you were right…that's why….the gods sent the boar…sent to punish me…" the king coughed blood, and it was all Selene could do not to sob in grief. "Wrong, I...Varys, Littlefinger, even my brother…worthless…no one to tell me _no_ but you, Ned…only you." He lifted his hand, the gestured pained and feeble, "Paper and ink. There, on the table. Write what I tell you."

Ned smoothed the paper out across his knee and took up the quill, "At your command, Your Grace."

"This is the will and word of Robert of House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and all the rest—put in the damn titles, you know how it goes. I do hereby command Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King, to serve as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm upon my…upon my death…to rule in my stead, until my son Joffrey comes of age…"

"Father," Selene interrupted, looking down and seeing her own blue eyes reflect back at her. She had never noticed the flecks of gold in his eyes before. They made his eyes seem brighter, even as he lay here dying. She glanced at Ned. Lord Stark's lips were pressed, and she knew that Ned couldn't bear to tell his friend the truth. But she needed her father's council now more than ever. Stark honor prevented Ned from speaking a painful truth.

But Selene was not a Stark yet.

"Joffrey is not your son," Selene nearly choked on her words, her breathing sharp. Her heart felt like it would split in two, but she had no choice.

Ned looked taken aback.

Robert's brows drew together in confusion. That was the worst part. He didn't seem to understand. "What?" he whispered.

"Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella…" Selene breathed. "All bastards, born from the queen's infidelity."

Robert scanned Ned, hoping for an explanation or a contradiction. Ned nodded solemnly. Robert's neck purpled, and soon it spread to his face.

"The queen shall die for this," Robert tried to rise, but pain kept him down. "And the father?" He asked furiously, agony and rage on his face.

"We don't know," Ned said quickly, before Selene could answer. No doubt Ned wanted to shield Robert from the worst of it, that the queen laid with her own twin brother, and the children he thought were his own are the product of incest. "Selene is your only trueborn child."

Robert was in a murderous rage. He would have hit something if he had the strenght, "I...I am _going to.._."

"Father, please," Selene interrupted. "I need your help."

Robert turned to his daughter, eyes searching her face. He closed his eyes and began to breathe slowly, calming himself. After several minutes, his face returned to its pale color, and when he opened his eyes, they were like the sea after a storm passes. "Perhaps I always knew. Deep down. You are…like me in every way…but wiser." The king nearly smiled, "You will be a great queen."

Selene realized she was crying.

"Do not weep for me, my dear. Queens do not weep." He smiled, "And you will be Queen Regnant, the first in the history of Westeros."

Selene shook her head, "Mother will not go away meekly. There will be a war."

At that, a gleam seemed to appear in Robert's eye.

"I've dreamed of war for years. A new one comes along…and I had to go and die before the good part."

Selene laughed sharply in disbelief. Her father straightened where he lay. He seemed to be drawing strength from somewhere.

"I may not be able to give you a realm in peace, but perhaps there is something I can give you." When Selene looked confused, Robert said, "Victory."

Renly walked in when summoned. The blood on his doublet was black and dried, and his forehead was creased.

"Is there anything I can do, brother?" He asked.

"You can bow to your queen."

Renly's head snapped back in surprise as he glanced from Robert to Selene and back again, "Joffrey…"

"Baseborn, all of them," Ned Stark said to her uncle. "Except Selene."

Renly didn't argue, and Selene wondered just how many at court knew but kept quiet. Renly's frown did not go away, "The laws of succession for the Iron Throne established by the Targaryens after the Dance of Dragons state that any available male heir inherits before a female. Stannis is-"

"Do I _look_ like a fucking Targaryen to you?" Robert's words were no longer breaking. "Ned, answer me this, in all the kingdoms, who would be my rightful heir?"

Ned answered surely, "A trueborn daughter would inherit before the lord's younger brother by laws of every kingdom. A lord's younger brother can only inherit after the lord's entire bloodline is exhausted, including his—"

"Trueborn daughter," Robert finished, "and all her children after her. Seeing as I am not Targaryen, I think my successor is clear." Her father coughed for several minutes. The end was near, but Robert was going out with a fight. All eyes in the room fell on Renly, waiting for him to make his decision. For a terrible moment, Selene thought he might refuse.

Renly swallowed, "I never liked Lannisters, anyway." His face broke into a smile as he drew his sword, placed the tip on the floor, and bent the knee by the side of the bed, looking up at his niece.

Selene had heard her father say the words, but now they came from her own lips, "I ask you to pledge your loyalty to the royal branch of House Baratheon. To serve as our bannerman and come to our aid whenever called upon."

Renly looked up at her seriously and nodded.

"Stand," Selene said. "Will you stand beside me, Renly of House Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and Lord of Storm's End, now and always?"

"Now and always."

Selene smiled at her uncle as she stood. He stood over a head taller. She threw her arms around his torso, and he hugged her back fiercely, kissing her gently on the forehead. "I will write to Stannis," Renly said.

Selene glanced nervously at the men in the room, "What if Uncle Stannis does not yield? What if he claims himself king under the Targaryen laws of succession?"

Robert and Renly were silent.

It was Ned who spoke, "I am sure Lord Stannis will see reason."

Robert nodded from the bed, "Through your marriage with the Stark boy, you will have the north." He glanced at Ned.

Ned straightened in his chair and turned to Selene, "The north is yours, Your Grace."

Robert continued, "The Westerlands will be against you. The Lannisters will see to that. The Crownlands will be paid off and be for Cersei."

"The smallfolk know me," Selene argued. "I walk amongst the people."

"You do," Robert countered, "and the Lannisters will feed them and blame you for the war to come. The commoners may wish for you, but they will fight for the person who pays them and speaks peace."

Selene felt she was glimpsing the Robert Baratheon of legend. The general and warrior that had filled the verses of countless songs.

"The Dornish will not rise. They have no love for Baratheons or Lannisters. The Eyrie is ruled by Jon Arryn's widow, and from what I remember the woman's wits are frayed." He glanced apologetically at Ned. "But with Catelyn Tully as your good mother and Lysa Tully as your aunt by marriage, then you will have the riverlands and the Vale. All that remains is—"

"The Reach," Renly finished, eyes blazing, "and I can win it for you."

Selene's brows drew together, "How, Uncle?"

"I have friends in high places," Renly said. "There's a Tyrell maid who is as lovely as the dawn. With your leave, brother, I'll negotiate a marriage."

Robert smiled, teeth red, and for a moment Selene forgot that he was dying. She remembered anew.

"I can't do it without you," Selene said hoarsely to her father. Robert Baratheon had not been a great king. He had bankrupted the kingdom. He had not been a great father. Robert had neglected Tommen and Myrcella, and as much as Selene hated to believe it, perhaps he did favor her so highly out of spite for Cersei. But he was her father and he had loved her as good as he was able. Selene felt her grief sharp like a knife in her chest.

"You will," the king insisted, coughing up blood. He turned to Ned, "The damn will…"

Ned nodded, picking up his quill. Robert's strength seemed to fade as the talk of war ended.

"This is the will and word of Robert Baratheon, First of his…you know the rest. I hereby command Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King, to serve as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm upon my death…until my only trueborn child and heir Selene Baratheon comes of age."

"Robert," Ned's voice was thick, "you must not do this. Don't die on me. The realm needs you."

Robert took his hand, squeezing so hard his knuckles went white, "You are…such a bad liar, Ned Stark," he said through his pain. "The realm…the realm knows…what a wretched king I've been. Bad as Aerys, the gods spare me."

"No," Ned said quickly, "not as bad as Aerys, Your Grace. Not near so bad."

Robert managed a weak smile, "At the least, they will say…this last thing…this I did right. You'll rule now, Ned. You'll hate it worse than I did, but you'll do it well."

"The girl. Daenerys," the king breathed. "Let her live. If you can, if it…not too late…talk to them…Varys, Littelefinger…don't let them kill her. And help Selene, Ned." The king's eyes were wet with tears, "Make her better than me. Shouldn't be too hard…she already is."

Selene laughed through her tears. Ned smiled, "That I will, my friend. That I will."

The king closed his eyes and seemed to relax. "Killed by a pig," he muttered. "Ought to laugh, but it hurts too much."

Ned Stark was not laughing. "Should I call them back in, Your Grace?"

"No, I should be alone." Robert looked at his daughter. "Selene…I don't have much time…you don't want to see this."

Tears blurred her vision, "I won't leave you." She reached for his hand and held it fiercely. "I'll stay."

Renly left the room. Ned left the room. Selene stayed. She listened to her father's shaky breaths. Listened to his cries of agony and pleads for the Mother's mercy, but she never took her eyes off his face. Robert Baratheon was scared and dying. Selene would not let him be alone.

She started singing softly.

_Gentle Mother, font of mercy_

_Save our sons from war, we pray_

_Soothe the wrath and tame the fury,_

_Teach us all a kinder way_

Robert seemed to be relaxing, so Selene continued, although her voice was airy and cracking. _Tame the fury?_ This hymn didn't seem appropriate for Robert's death. But perhaps death was the only thing that could tame a Baratheon.


	21. The Iron Throne

The Iron Throne was as uncomfortable as it looked. The fanged steel behind her made it impossible to lean back. _A king should never sit easy,_ Aegon the Conqueror had said when he commanded his armorers to forge a great seat from the swords laid down by his enemies. A lesson to his descendants.

Grey dawn light spilled in through the high windows of the throne room. The sky was an expanse of dreary ash. It seemed even the gods were mourning Robert. Selene sat the throne in her finest black silk dress, golden antlers emblazoned on her bodice. She didn't have a proper crown yet, so she wore her silver coronet. She smiled at the thought of the moonstone carved into a crescent shape in the center of her crown. When Robert had the coronet fashioned for her, he had two moonstones carved. One for the crown, the other for the necklace he had gifted her. Her stone's twin was worn on a slim silver chain by Jon Snow a thousand leagues away at the Wall, and the thought gave her strength. Despite the years of use, her crown felt heavier than usual.

Ned sat in an ornate chair on her right as her Hand. The two of them were alone in the throne room.

"I would give all my titles for the freedom to weep," Ned said sorrowfully. "The gods give Robert rest."

Selene had used up all her tears. "He hated rest. The gods give him love and laughter, the joy of righteous battle."

Ned smiled, "Aye, princess."

Selene looked Ned in the eyes. They were so like Jon's..."My lord, you should return to Winterfell with your daughters. There is a chance this day could end very badly for us. I have a duty here, but you have a duty to your family."

Ned's eyes gleamed. "That's very kind of you, princess. My daughters are scheduled to board a galley today that will take them safely to the north. But you're wrong. I have a duty here, too. Robert was my friend and I will see his wishes done. He named me your regent, and I plan on honoring my promise."

They were waiting for the councilors. Ned thought it a good idea for her to sit the throne. "You look every bit a queen," he said proudly, but she wasn't queen yet. Any moment, the members of the small council would arrive and Ned would show them Robert's will. Her uncle Renly had left some fifty men behind for her protection and ridden hard for Storm's End and Highgarden to raise the south in her name. Selene was awaiting word from Stannis. As Master of Ships and a renowned battle commander, it was imperative she gain his wisdom and council. According to Ned, Littlefinger had won the City Watch for her, a small army of two thousand men. All they needed to fear were the Lannister guards, but they were greatly outnumbered.

Selene was roused from her thoughts when Ned gasped loudly, as if he had been under water for too long and was finally able to breathe.

"My lord?"

Ned was murmuring so softly she strained to hear him, "Perhaps the gods have a plan after all." He was looking at her carefully, like he had all those weeks ago when he was still not sure whether or not to trust her.

Selene was about to ask again, when he spoke.

"Your Grace…how do you feel about the Targaryens?"

"How do I _feel_?" Selene repeated. "What an odd question."

A moment passed.

"Do you share Robert's hate?" Ned asked.

"Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped your sister," Selene said. "The Mad King roasted your father alive and your brother killed himself trying to save him. The Targaryens have committed atrocity after atrocity."

Ned's eyes were sad, but his words were strong. "Yes, but those are just two members of a whole house. You mean to tell me you hate the family for the sins of two?"

Selene thought of the Targaryens of legend. Of the fearsome warriors with otherworldly beauty who tamed fire made flesh. She remembered all her books, with all their stories. Of Baelor the Blessed, Daemon the Good, and Aegon the Unlikely. Of Visenya and Rhaenys, two warrior women who inspired her to pick up her own sword. 

"I suppose you're right," Selene conceded. "I do not hate them all. Only the ones who have bled the realm. In fact," she allowed herself a small smile, "I used to dream of riding dragons."

A ghost of a smile graced Ned's lips, "Perhaps there is a way to solidify your claim to the throne beyond all repute…a marriage, and not with my son."

Selene frowned, "I don't understand."

Ned glanced about the throne room, as if the dragon skulls were still there, listening. "There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who pray for the return of the Targaryens. A union between the daughter of Robert Baratheon and the son of Rhaegar Targaryen could save the realm." Ned looked away, eyes flicking back and forth quickly in deep thought. "A daughter of lions and stags, a son of wolves and dragons…" His smile was one of disbelief.

Selene's jaw dropped, "Marry a _Targaryen_?" Thunder clapped outside, as if Robert's shade was as shocked as her. "And forsake my father and all those who died fighting in his rebellion?" Her frowned deepened, "Besides, Rhaegar's son was murdered by the Lannister army during the Sack of King's Landing," Selene had been keeping up with reports from the east, "and the only Targaryen left is the girl, Daenerys."

Ned hesitated, "Your Grace, do you remember my bast—"

The door to the throne room swung open.

Ser Barristan Selmy, Grand Maester Pycelle, Varys, and Littlefinger entered the throne room together. Selene straightened, trying her best to look brave while her heart fluttered fearfully in her chest. The councilors all blinked up in surprise when they saw her sitting the throne. With unsure steps, they approached.

"This is most improper," Pycelle said to no one in particular.

"Princess," Ser Barristan said carefully, immaculate in his white cloak and enameled armor, "my place is beside the young king now. Pray give me leave to attend him."

"Your place is here," Ned told him.

Littlefinger, garbed in blue velvets and a silver mockingbird cape, bowed but said nothing, his eyes glittering with interest.

Varys was pink from his bath and Selene could smell lavender coming off of him from the throne. "The little birds sing a grievous song today," he said. "The realm weeps. Shall we begin?"

"When Lord Renly arrives," Ser Barristan said.

"Lord Renly has left the city," Ned informed the council.

From the looks on Baelish's and Varys' faces, they already knew.

"Left the city?" Pycelle asked.

"He took his leave through a postern gate an hour before dawn, accompanied by Ser Loras Tyrell and some retainers," Ned added. "They were galloping south in haste to raise swords."

"Raise swords?" Littlefinger asked in a soft voice.

Ned nodded and rose slowly from his chair with his cane. He drew out a letter. "The king called me to his side last night and commanded me to record his final words, to be opened by his councilors after his death. Ser Barristan, if you would be so kind?"

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard climbed the steps and examined the letter. "King Robert's seal, and unbroken." He opened the letter and read, "Lord Eddard Stark is herein named Protector of the Realm, to rule as regent until…" Selmy's voice faded, and then he gaped at Selene. She swallowed, but lifted her chin.

"If you could finish, my lord?" Littlefinger asked, curiosity clear on his face.

Selmy took a deep breath, "Until my only trueborn child and heir Selene Baratheon comes of age."

The silence was deafening.

"I would ask this council to confirm me as Lord Protector, as Robert wished," Ned said, "and to bend the knee to his heir, our new queen, Selene Baratheon."

Selene watched their faces, wondering what thoughts hid behind Pycelle's half-closed eyes, Littlefinger's lazy half smile, and the nervous flutter of Vary's fingers. She eyed Ser Barristan, desperately wanting his approval above all others. His jaw was locked and confusion swam in his eyes.

"I do not understand," Ser Barristan said, looking around the room for an explanation.

Selene was going to speak, when the royal steward's voice rose from the end of the hall, "All hail His Grace, Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

Five knights of the Kingsguard—all but Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan—entered first in a crescent around Joffrey and Cersei as they strode toward the throne. The queen wore a gown of sea-green silk, trimmed with Myrish lace as pale as foam. On her finger was a golden ring with an emerald the size of a pigeon's egg, on her head a matching tiara. Joffrey's gold doublet shone in the hall, his cape of red satin kissing the floor behind him. Sandor Clegane shielded their back wearing his ringmail, soot-grey plate, and snarling dog's head helm.

Behind this group, twenty Lannister guardsmen waited with longswords hanging from their belts. Crimson cloaks draped their shoulders and steel lions crested their helms. But Littlefinger had kept his promise; the gold cloaks entered as well, lining the walls of the throne room, each man's hand clasped an eight-foot-long spear tipped in black iron. Renly's guards were scattered, their black armor plain except for the gold antlers ornamented on the breast plate and small silver antlers sprouting from their helms. Together, Selene's forces outnumbered the Lannisters five to one.

The councilors drifted to the side to make room for Joffrey and the queen as they stopped at the base of the throne. All except Ser Barristan, who stood rooted a few steps below Ned, Robert's letter still in his hand.

Joffrey was ignoring the girl on his throne. "I command my council to make all the necessary arrangements for my coronation," the boy proclaimed. "I wish to be crowned within the fortnight. Today I shall accept oaths of fealty from my loyal councilors."

Selene, gripping the arms of throne, never took her eyes off her brother. "Ser Barristan, be so kind as to show the last will and testament of Robert Baratheon to my mother."

The knight carried the letter to Cersei. The queen glanced at the words, "Protector of the Realm," she read, glancing up at Ned. "Is this meant to be your shield, my lord? A piece of paper?" She ripped the letter in half and ripped the halves in quarters.

Selene gave a small start in her seat as her father's words fell to the floor.

"Those were the king's words," Ser Barristan said, shocked.

"We have a new king now," Cersei Lannister replied. "Princess Selene, when last we spoke, you gave me some counsel. Allow me to return the courtesy. Bend the knee, child. Bend the knee and swear fealty to your brother, and we shall allow you to marry the Stark boy and live out your days in that grey waste you wish to call home."

"Would that I could," Selene said grimly. If her mother was so intent on war, than that was what she would give her. "Joffrey has no claim to the throne. I am Robert's true heir."

" _Liar!_ " Joffrey screamed, his face reddening.

Selene stared down on her brother's face, "Joffrey is the product of incest. Born of the queen's adultery with her twin, Ser Jaime Lannister."

The hall erupted in whispers between councilors and knights and soldiers. Joffrey was screaming. Ser Barristan was speaking fervently with Ned. The only two who were silent were Selene and Cersei. Mother and daughter stared each other down.

Finally, the queen spoke, hushing the hall. "You condemn yourself with your own mouth, princess. Ser Barristan, seize this traitor."

The Lord Commander didn't move. Renly's guards drew their swords.

"And now the treason moves from words to deeds," Cersei said. "Do you think Ser Barristan stands alone?" With an ominous rasp of metal on metal, the Hound drew his longsword. The five knights of the Kingsguard and twenty Lannister guardsmen in crimson cloaks moved to support him.

" _Kill her!_ " Joffrey screamed up at the Iron Throne, " _Kill all of them, I command it!_ "

"You leave me no choice," Selene told Cersei. She looked down at who could only be Janos Slynt, the Commander of the City Watch. "Commander, take the queen and her child into custody. Do them no harm, but escort them back to the royal apartments and keep them there, under guard."

"Men of the Watch!" Janos Slynt shouted, donning his helm. A hundred gold cloaks leveled their spears.

"I want no bloodshed," Selene told her mother. "Tell your men to lay down their swords, and no one need—"

With a single sharp thrust, the nearest gold cloak drove his spear into a northerner's back. His blade dropped from nerveless fingers as the wed red point burst out through his ribs, piercing leather and mail. He was dead before his sword hit the floor.

Selene's shout came far too late. Janos Slynt himself slashed open the throat of a Baratheon guard. Selene stood, right hand flying to Stormsbane. A large hand grabbed her wrist. She looked up into the dog helm of the Hound, who had sprinted up the steps to stop her. She struggled against him in vain, as he twisted her arm behind her back. Pain shot through her body as her eyes found Ned. Littlefinger had a dagger placed securely around his throat, and he whispered something in his ear.

Selene watched as the gold and crimson cloaks slayed every northerner and Baratheon guard. Her mother walked the steps as slowly and as calmly as if blood wasn't spilling around her. Cersei was still taller than her, and the queen looked down on her daughter. Her eyes were like green ice. She tucked a dark curl behind Selene's ear.

"My sweet summer child…" The queen mumbled with a small smile. "You will regret this for the rest of your days."

###

_The One Day Queen,_ the people called her, according to Lori's notes. _One Hour Queen is more appropriate,_ Selene thought miserably as she paced in her chambers. Her rooms had become her prison. She was not able to be alone with anyone, even her personal handmaiden, but Lori had managed to hide notes in her food when she delivered it under the watchful eye of Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard, her personal jailer.

_Renly has raised the stormlands and Reach in your name and demands your freedom,_ Lori has scribbled. _Stannis is also gathering swords, but he sits on Dragonstone._

Selene sighed. There was no creature as dangerous as a truly just man, and she wasn't sure if Stannis was her enemy or ally. With Stannis beside her, she would gain the power of the sea and the full support of the stormlands. As her enemy, she would lose houses loyal to him and have another rival claimant to the throne.

_Ned Stark has been charged with treason and sits in the dungeons. Robb Stark is leading a host south._

Selene buried her face in her hands. She had asked Ned to go home to safety, but he had refused, and now he rots in a dungeon as Robb leads an army. Selene thought of the boy she had danced with at Winterfell, and tried to imagine him as a wartime commander.

In the privacy of her room, with nothing else to do, she had all the time in the world to grieve. She wept with sorrow for her father. She worried for Eleni, who was still trapped in the stables and prayed Joffrey hadn't already killed her out of spite. She had sleepless nights filled with concern for Tyrion. She hadn't heard a word about him in weeks and had no idea if he was dead or alive.

Thinking of Tyrion, she flipped open the pages of one of her favorite books, trying anything to distract herself. _The Dragonseeds of the Dance_. During the Dance of Dragons, when Prince Jacaerys noticed his mother's side had more dragons that dragonriders, he had promised gold and titles to any Targaryen bastards who could mount a dragon. These bastards were called dragonseeds, and Selene's favorite was Nettles, the small dark-skinned girl who was foul-mouthed and fearless. She was only a few years older than Selene when the civil war started, and cleverly tamed the wild dragon Sheepstealer by bringing it freshly slaughtered sheep each morning.

_"She wasn't Targaryen!" A young Selene told Tyrion many years ago in the Red Keep's library._

_"Her name doesn't matter," Tyrion explained. "She had the blood of the Targaryens, and according to the maesters, that's all you need to ride a dragon."_

_Selene pondered this. "My father's grandmother was a Targaryen princess," she reminded him. "Could I ride a dragon one day?"_

_Tyrion smiled, "Only if you take me with you."_

Selene was jarred from her memories by a knock on the door.

"Enter."

A large stranger in roughspun clothes entered her chambers. He removed his hood.

"Varys?"

"We don't have much time, my dear, so we must be quick," the eunuch said, glancing nervously behind him at the closed door.

"Where is Ser Mandon?" Selene asked as Varys took a seat and poured two glasses of wine. There was no way she was allowed to be alone with Varys.

"Never mind that." He pushed the goblet forward with two fingers. "Drink."

She sat across from him, grabbed the cup, but did not drink, "The Stark girls…"

"The younger girl escaped Ser Meryn and fled," Varys said, and Selene let out a great sigh of relief. "I have not been able to find her. Nor have the Lannisters. A kindness, there. Our new king loves her not. The older girl is still betrothed to Joffrey. Cersei keeps her close. She came to court a few days ago to plead that Lord Stark be spared. A pity you couldn't have been there, her song was so sweet." He leaned forward tentatively, "I trust you realize Lord Stark is a dead man?"

Selene swallowed a mouthful of wine. She was almost too afraid to ask, "And am I?"

Varys smile was sad, "A bit rash, perhaps, but not dead yet. Lucky for you the king is your brother."

"Lucky," she spat.

Varys continued, "To kill you would make him a kinslayer. Due to your sex, he can't send you to the Wall. To exile you would be foolish. You could gain support and bide your time in the Free Cities. No. Cersei will keep you close for now while the rumors of Joffrey's legitimacy die down and marry you off to some lord to hold his claim."

_There are worse fates,_ Selene thought. _Like what awaits Ned…_

"The queen won't kill Lord Stark," Selene argued. "Lady Catelyn holds her brother."

"The _wrong_ brother," Varys sighed, "and lost to her, in any case. She let the Imp slip through her fingers. I expect he is dead by now, somewhere in the Mountains of the Moon."

_Queens do not weep,_ her father had told her, but she felt the tears rise to her eyes all the same. The last thing Selene wanted to do was cry in front of Varys, but the thought of Tyrion's death was more than she could bear. Who else could she lose?

In pity, Varys handed her a handkerchief. Selene wiped at her eyes, all hope draining out of her.

"Why have you come here?" she asked through a clenched throat. "If this is my fate and the fate of those I love, slit my throat and be done with it."

"Your blood is the last thing I desire."

Selene felt a sudden fury. "When they slaughtered my guard, you stood beside the queen and watched, and said not a word."

"And would again. I seem to recall that I was unarmed, unarmored, and surrounded by Lannister swords." The eunuch looked at her curiously, tilting his head, "When I was a young boy, before I was cut, I traveled with a troupe of mummers through the Free Cities. They taught me that each man has a role to play, in life as well as mummery. So it is at court. The King's Justice must be fearsome, the master of coin must be frugal, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard must be valiant…and the master of whispers must by sly and compliant without scruple. A courageous informer would be as useless as a cowardly knight." He drank from his glass.

Selene studied the eunuch's face, searching for truth beneath the mummer's scars and stubble, "Can you free me from the Red Keep?"

"I could…but _will_ I? No. Questions would be asked, and the answers would lead back to me."

Selene had expected no more, "Will you at least consent to carry messages for me?" She needed to write to Renly, Stannis, and Robb.

"That would depend on the message. I will gladly provide you with paper and ink, if you like. And when you have written what you will, I will take the letters and read them, and deliver them or not, as best serves my own ends."

"Your own ends. What ends are those, Lord Varys?"

"Peace," Varys replied without hesitation. "If there was one soul in King's Landing who was truly desperate to keep Robert Baratheon alive, it was me." He sighed, "For fifteen years I protected him from his enemies, but I could not protect him from his daughter. What strange fit of madness led you to tell the queen that you had learned the truth about Joffrey's birth?"

Tommen and Myrcella's faces swam before her. "The madness of mercy," Selene admitted.

"Ah," Varys said. "To be sure. You are an honest and honorable girl, princess. I often forget that. I have met so few of your kind in my life." He glanced around the room, her prison cell. "When I see what honesty and honor have won you, I understand why." He paused, "The queen will visit you tomorrow."

Selene's eyes snapped up in surprise, "Why?"

"Cersei is frightened of you…but she has other enemies she fears even more. Her beloved Jaime is fighting the riverlords even now. Lysa Arryn sits in the Eyrie, ringed in stone and steel, and there is no love lost between her and the queen. In Dorne, the Martells still brood on the murder of Princess Elia and her babes. And now Robb Stark marches down the Neck with a northern host at his back. But it's Robert's brothers that are giving the queen sleepless nights…Lord Stannis in particular. Your claim is the true one, with his help as your battle commander and master of ships, his threat is the closest.

_Stannis has yet to rise in my name,_ Selene thought. _He sits, and he waits, for what I am not sure._ But she kept her mouth closed.

Varys continued, "So here is Cersei's nightmare: While her father and brother spend their power battling the Starks and Tullys, Lord Stannis will land, proclaim you queen, and lop off Joffrey's curly blond head…and her own in the bargain, though I truly believe Cersei cares more about the boy."

"I am my father's true heir," Selene insisted. "The throne is mine by rights."

Varys _tsk_ ed. "Cersei will not want to hear that, I promise you. Stannis may come to save you, but you will be a corpse long before he can free you. No doubt you will suddenly take ill like our friend Jon Arryn. You are being given your life back, princess, if you'll take it. Cersei is no fool. She knows a tame stag is of more use than a dead one."

"You want me to _serve_ my mother's bastard?" Selene asked, incredulous. "The boy who has tortured my siblings? To marry some lord far away while my father's memory is destroyed by that viscous idiot?"

"I want you to serve the realm," Varys said. "Tell the queen that through the madness of death, Robert proclaimed you heir. Tell her that you are her loving and loyal daughter, and that you only sought to carry out your father's dying wish. Apologize and beg forgiveness from your brother the king. Offer to denounce Stannis and Renly as faithless usurpers. I believe she will allow to live out your days in a castle far away from court…perhaps Highgarden?"

Selene opened her mouth to speak, but Varys was quicker, "Not Winterfell. I don't think she trusts you enough for that."

"Is this all your own scheme?" Selene said through narrowed eyes. "Or are you in league with Littlefinger?"

That seemed to amuse him, "I would sooner wed the Black Goat of Qohor. Littlefinger is the second most devious man in the Seven Kingdoms. Oh, I feed him choice whispers, sufficient so he _thinks_ I am his…just as I allow Cersei to believe I am hers."

"And just as you let me believe you are mine. Tell me, Lord Varys, who do you truly serve?"

Varys smiled thinly, "Why, the realm, my dear princess. How could you ever doubt that? I swear it. I serve the realm, and the realm needs peace." He finished his last swallow of wine. "A pity…you would have been a great queen. Feared by your enemies and loved by the people. I secretly hoped your ascension would be smoother. Alas, the gods do not always reward the righteous with justice." He stood to leave, "Give me your word that you will tell the queen what she wants to hear when she comes calling."

"If I did, my word would be as hollow as an empty suit of armor. It makes no difference if I tell the truth or lie, either way my father's legacy is tarnished. You said it yourself, they will not kill me."

"And what of your dear lioness?" Varys said softly.

A chill pierced Selene's heart, "Eleni…"

"That beast has been behaving rather strangely as of late. It roars all day and night and claws at the stable doors, and it hasn't been fed in so long…"

Selene turned away so Varys wouldn't see her wet eyes.

Varys sighed, "The High Septon once told me that as we sin, so do we suffer. If that's true, princess, tell me…why is it always the innocents who suffer most, when you high lords play your game of thrones?"

"I never wanted this," Selene said quietly. Her hands tightened into fists. "Any of this."

There was a gentle knocking on the door. Three quick knocks, a pause, followed by three more quick knocks.

"That's my cue," Lord Varys walked to the door. "Oh," he said on afterthought, turning, "Lord Stark has a message for you."

Selene whirled, "What is it?"

"I do not know. He refused to tell me, refused to even write it down. He says he will only tell you in person."

_Does he still wish to speak with me about Targaryens?_ Ned Stark was prisoner in the dungeons, his leg must have him in agony, his daughter a hostage, his son leading an army...and yet he still wished to speak to her about Targaryens. Whatever it was, it must have been more important that Selene could ever imagine.

"Will you take me to see him?" Selene asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, my dear. Too much risk for me. I am sure you understand." Varys placed his hand on the handle and turned it, looking back on her one last time. "Remember, princess, the next person could bring you freedom or a lion's head…The choice is _entirely_ yours."


	22. Baelor

The white marble plaza was a solid mass of people, all yammering excitedly at each other and straining to get closer to the Great Sept of Baelor. The seven slender towers that surrounded the Sept loomed high over the people. The bells were deafening where Selene stood beside Sansa Stark on the high dais. Sansa's dress was sky blue, her flaming hair high in a southern style. She couldn't understand Selene's sombreness.

"Father is going to be free today!" The Stark girl said excitedly, eyes shining. "He'll go to the Wall and be with Uncle Benjen and Jon. And he can visit Winterfell whenever he wants!"

Selene glanced at the girl, her lion pendant glittering in the sunlight.

"And what about Arya?" Selene asked. "No one can find her. What if she's hurt?" Varys had spoken true. The youngest Stark girl was missing and Selene was sick with worry.

Sansa's eyes clouded, "Once father is free, he'll find her." She almost sounded as if she believed it.

Selene forced a smile. "Yes, sweet girl. Everything will be alright."

_You will bend the knee, or Lord Stark will never see daylight again._ Her mother's threats loomed large in her mind. _It would be a shame if something were to happen to poor Eleni._ Selene swallowed, feeling trapped in her tight dress of woven gold and crimson detailing. Her mother had chosen her attire.

_Lannister colors for my lion cub,_ Cersei had said with a smile that cut. It had been a bitter cup to swallow. She would not bend the knee for Joffrey for anything but peace. Selene didn't _want_ war. She wanted peace for the realm and freedom for those she loved. She prayed her father would forgive her.

But she hadn't bent the knee yet. One of her conditions was life for Ned Stark, so she stood there in her Lannister garb between her mother the queen in her black mourning dress, a veil of black diamonds in her hair, and Sansa Stark. Today was the day of Lord Stark's confession. Selene grit her teeth. According to her mother, Ned Stark would confess his treason in exchange for his daughter's life. His treason? Supporting the rightful heir to the throne.

Selene glared at Joffrey, who stood a few steps in front of Cersei, dressed head to toe in gold, a massive golden antler crown topped his head.

Joffrey shot her a smirk.

Selene had been denied her silver coronet and sword, no doubt the first of many insults.

The smallfolk shot glances in her direction, and she tried to read them. The people turned and whispered to each other. _The One Day Queen._

The crowd began to shout from the side of the great courtyard where Ned was brought out by two gold cloaks. The smallfolk were clawing at him, but the guards moved him along through them. Selene stood a little taller to get a better view. She could just see the top of his brown hair as he limped through the masses. As he approached the pulpit, Selene heard Sansa gasp in apprehension. Despite his splendid grey doublet, Lord Stark was thinner and paler than she had ever seen him. When he looked up at his daughter, Selene saw cuts and bruises on his face that were dark and crusted. His cast was grey with rot and she could smell it from where she stood.

Selene took Sansa's hand in her own and gave it a squeeze.

The High Septon himself stood behind him, a squat man, grey with age and fat, wearing long white robes and an immense crown of spun gold and crystal that wreathed his head in rainbows whenever he moved. The small council was also on the pulpit: Varys in his soft slippers and patterned robe, Littlefinger in his silvery cape, and Grand Maester Pycelle with his half-closed eyes. Ser Barristan stood protectively behind the king, and he could barely meet Selene's eyes.

When the bells ceased to toll, a quiet slowly settled over the great plaza, and Lord Stark lifted his head to speak, his voice so soft that even Selene strained to hear. Janos Slynt stepped forward and prodded him sharply with a spear. Selene shot Slynt a look of loathing, but kept quiet.

Ned raised his voice and began again. "I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King," he said more loudly, in a voice that carried over the plaza, "and I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men."

The crowd began to shout and scream obscenities up at the pulpit. Sansa covered her face with her hands in shame. Selene wrapped her arm around the girl's shoulder and could feel her shaking with fear.

"It's alright, it's alright," Selene said reassuringly, wishing she could believe herself.

Lord Stark raised his voice so he could be heard over the people, "I have betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend, Robert. I swore to defend and protect his children, yet before his blood was cold, I plotted to murder and dispose his sons and place his daughter Selene on the throne, so I could better control the Seven Kingdoms with my son as her husband and king." At this, the smallfolk turned to Selene and hissed. She had never felt a wave of hate so strong in all her life. Ned wasn't finished, "Let the High Septon and Baelor the Beloved and the Seven bear witness to the truth of what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, and by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

A stone came sailing out of the crowd. Selene cried out as Ned got hit. The gold cloaks kept him from falling. Blood ran down his face from a deep gash across his forehead. More stones followed. One struck the guard to Ned's left. Two of the Kingsguard stepped in front of Joffrey and the queen, protecting them with their shields.

Selene's right hand twitched, as if she could grab Stormsbane. Sansa was squeezing Selene's hand with all her might. _Just let him go, Joffrey. Just let him go._

The High Septon knelt before Joffrey, "As we sin, so do we suffer," he droned. "This man has confessed his crimes in the sight of gods and men, here in this holy place." Rainbows danced around his head as he lifted his hands in supplication. "The gods are just, yet Blessed Baelor taught us that they are also merciful. What shall be done with this traitor, Your Grace?"

A thousand voices were screaming, but Selene never heard them. _King_ Joffrey stepped out from behind the shields of his Kingsguard. "My mother bids me to let Lord Eddard take the black and serve the realm in exile. Lady Sansa begged mercy for her father." He looked straight at Sansa and smiled, and for a moment, Selene had hope.

"But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!"

The world seemed to slow. The crowd roared. Sansa fell to her knees, sobbing hysterically, but Selene hardly heard. She charged at Joffrey, until yanked back hard by Ser Meryn Trant.

The High Septon was clutching Joffrey's cape. Varys was waving his arms as he ran to the king's side. Cersei was whispering fiercely in his ear. Selene's eyes weren't on them, but on Ser Ilyn Payne, tall and fleshless, as he climbed the steps of the dais.

Selene grabbed the sword from Ser Meryn's scabbard and drew it. With a whirl, she bashed his helm with all her strength. She didn't wait to see him fall. Selene launched herself off the upper dais to where the gold cloaks were shoving Ned onto the marble. Ser Ilyn raised a giant greatsword to meet her blow.

Joffrey was shouting something at her. She saw the Hound draw his sword from the corner of her eye. She pushed Ser Ilyn's weapon away, spun on her heel, and parried the Hound's blow. He hesitated, and then his eyes locked on something behind her. With a grunt, he shoved her to the side with a mailed hand. Selene stumbled and nearly fell when a sharp pain shot through her left shoulder.

Selene fell to her knees, Ser Meryn's sword clanging to the floor. She turned her head slowly to her left shoulder and saw red. She looked up at saw Ser Ilyn, eyes blank and emotionless, sword wet with her blood.

"Arrest her!" Joffrey screamed.

A white cloak lifted her by her right arm firmly, but oddly gentle. The pain nearly blinded her. Sansa was still screaming. The crowd was still screaming. Selene's eyes found Ned's. He was yelling something at her, but she couldn't hear him over the chaos.

Pieces came through, "the boy...tell him", but then gold cloaks shoved him forward so he would face the crowd.

"Come now, princess," a kind voice said in her ear as she was dragged away.

"No…" Selene mumbled, struggling against the knight's grip, but the wound made her weak.

The last thing she saw was Ice, the great Valyrian steel sword of House Stark, arched in the air.

Dimly, as if from far away, she heard a….a _noise_ ….a soft sighing sound, as if a million people had let out their breath at once.

"No!" Selene shouted, bile rising in her throat as the people roared their approval.

"Princess," the voice and grip were no longer gentle. The knight lifted up his visor, but Selene didn't need him to. She recognized Ser Barristan's kind blue eyes anywhere.

"Lord Stark…" she cried hopelessly.

"If you look back you are lost. Do you trust me?" he asked fervently. Her pain was clouding her mind. He held her firmly by her upper arms and repeated himself, " _Do you trust me?_ "

Selene nodded. _If I look back I am lost._

"Then come, we don't have much time."

Ser Barristan looked over on the street and saw a horse tied to a post. He ran up to it, sliced the rope with his sword, mounted, and pulled her up. The knight dug his heels into the stallion as Selene heard indignant shouts from its owner. Together, the princess and the Lord Commander raced to the Red Keep.

Selene's shoulder was still bleeding.

"You need to wrap it," Ser Barristan yelled in her ear as they raced through the city. It was all Selene could do not to fall off the galloping horse as she ripped crimson fabric from the end of her dress. Carefully, with one of Barristan's arms steadying her, she cinched a knot hard on her left shoulder, right below her jaw.

"Tighter," Selmy said as they rounded a corner, nearly knocking down a vegetable cart. Selene grimaced with pain as she tightened the knot, numbing her arm.

"Make way for the princess!" Ser Barristan announced as they galloped through the city.

People were peeping their heads from windows.

Selene was dimly aware of their shouts.

"Long live the princess!"

"The One Day Queen!"

"Selene!"

"Traitor!"

"The True Queen!"

"Open the gates!" Ser Barristan commanded. Recognizing the white cloak, the gates to the Red Keep were thrown open, but Barristan didn't slow down. He galloped right to the stables.

"Mount Thunder," Selmy ordered.

Selene jumped off the horse, her heart pounding with adrenaline, her wound forgotten.

Strangely, Thunder was already saddled, and his saddlebags were nearly bursting. Selene swung her foot into stirrup when she heard a weak roar. She froze.

"Eleni!" She cried, opening the stable door beside Thunder. Selene fell to her knees and threw her arms around the lion's neck as she leapt into her arms.

Eleni purred and nuzzled Selene's face lovingly.

"Oh, girl." Selene nearly wept with relief. Eleni looked thinner than she had ever seen her. Blood matted her fur where someone had hurt her.

Fury rose in Selene's chest like a wild storm. "I'm going to kill Joffrey."

"Not now you won't," Barristan said from atop his brown palfrey, Harvest, named for his family's ancient seat. "Is everything prepared as instructed?"

Selene had no idea what he was talking about, but a voice from behind her responded.

"Everything is as you asked, my lord. The bags are ready, and I even managed to grab her coronet and Stormsbane," Lori's voice came from the entry to the stables.

Selene whirled around and rose, the sudden movement making her head swim.

"Her shoulder!" Lori cried as she ran forward, her slender fingers caressing Selene's face gently.

"It looks worse than it is," Ser Barristan assured her.

"The Hound-" Selene started, voice wavering.

"-saved her," Selmy finished. "If he hadn't pushed you aside, Ser Ilyn would have cut you in two."

Selene was speechless, and noticed a young man at the entry to the stables. It was Wren, the royal master of horse's son. Without a word, he lifted Selene up on her horse, as he had a thousand times.

"The horses are saddled and well fed," Wren told Ser Barristan. "They should be swift enough for your escape."

"How much were you paid to keep quiet?" Selene asked. Lori was a dear friend, but this sixteen year old boy owed her nothing.

Wren's large brown brows furrowed, "I didn't do it for money, princess."

Selene's grief was fresh and it made her bitter. "People only do things for money, power, or-"

"-love," the boy said, looking up at her reverently.

Selene looked at Selmy in astonishment.

Ser Barristan's mouth was pressed into a hard line. Her sworn sword nodded.

Wren continued, "I've loved you all my life. Ever since we were children." He didn't even blush. "I figure this may be my last time to say it. I don't expect anything, I know my place. I want to help you any way I can." He turned to Ser Barristan, "The gates will stay open for you."

Wren had always been a presence in the background of her childhood, but Selene never gave him more than a passing kind word. Her throat tightened, "Thank you, Wren."

His smile nearly broke her heart.

"We need to leave now," Ser Barristan insisted.

Selene looked at Lori, "You will be the first person people suspect. Come with me."

Lori shook her head, ringed fingers gripping Selene's leg, "I can help you most from here. You are not meant for a cell, but for a battlefield. I, on the other hand, mean nothing."

"Not to me," Selene said, eyes brimming with tears.

Lori's big brown eyes were burning with resolve, "That is exactly why I'm doing this. You are the sovereign the realm deserves. I pray for your return."

Bells tolled far away.

"Now go!" Lori said, giving Thunder a smack. Thunder reared and Selene galloped behind Selmy into the courtyard, Eleni close at their heels.

"Close the gates!" A voice yelled, but Wren's word was gold and the gates stayed open. Selmy and Selene barrelled down the streets of King's Landing. She heard gold cloaks marching behind her. The people were peeking out of their windows to see the commotion first-hand.

"Stop her!" A gold cloak screamed, but no one moved.

Suddenly, something was thrown out of a window. Selene couldn't see what it was, but she heard it make contact with a gold cloak. Soon, the air was filled with household objects striking the City Watch.

"Long live the princess!" someone cried from above.

Gratitude filled Selene's heart as gold cloaks were dropping to the ground.

"I will never forget this!" she shouted into the air. Behind her, the common people were pushing their carts to block the City Watch's pursuit.

Selene urged Thunder faster toward the Iron Gate.

Again, she heard, "Close the gate!" The gate stayed open, but something must have gone wrong, because slowly it began to close.

"Hurry!" Ser Barristan yelled as the gate drew closed. The window between the gate doors grew smaller and smaller.

Selmy burst through.

"Come on!" Selene pressed, leaning so forward on Thunder she thought she was going to fall. Finally, Thunder slid through the closing gates, Eleni close behind.

The gate shut with a loud crash behind her.

Selene didn't stop. She and Ser Barristan kept riding at full speed until King's Landing was out of sight.

"We should rest," Selmy said.

Selene did not need to be told twice. She slid off of Thunder and nearly collapsed. The adrenaline was drained out of her, and all that was left was the pain in her shoulder.

Ser Barristan knelt before her and unbound the wound.

"We must keep it from festering." Without warning, Ser Barristan poured wine from a skin into the cut. Selene bit her lip to keep from crying out as her wound burned. Selmy nodded his approval and, drawing fresh bandages from one of the saddlebags, redressed the wound.

"Now we head south, princess."

"Why do you call me that?" Selene challenged, trying to forget the agony.

Ser Barristan looked confused, "You are the daughter of my king."

"I was. My father is dead and I am his heir. Whatever was his is mine now."

"My…queen." Selmy bent the knee.

Selene nodded, "Arise, Ser Barristan Selmy, the first of my Queensguard. Yes, queen. Meaning I decide where we go next."

Ser Barristan bowed his head, "Where do you wish to go, Your Grace?"

"I already have the south. The south is not where I'm needed."

Selmy hesitated.

"I welcome and value your council, ser."

"I recommend east, Your Grace. Let us travel to your uncle Lord Stannis and gain his support."

"I don't know if Stannis supports me." Selene's mind was racing. "He has not written or risen in my name. I don't know what he's waiting for. It could be a waste of time. Besides, he has ships, but not a large army."

Selmy frowned, "Then where, Your Grace? Surely not to the westerlands."

"Surely not," Selene agreed. "Not south, not east, and not west. My direction seems clear."

"You mean to ride _north?_ " Ser Barristan said, aghast. "Your brother just murdered Lord Stark."

_If I look back I am lost._ "I know, and now I must go and marry his son."

"Forgive me, my queen, but the northmen will never allow their lord to marry the sister of Ned Stark's murderer."

"Robb knows me," Selene explained, praying she was right. "He has affection for me. My father and Lord Stark were clear. I need the support of the north, Vale, and riverlands. Once I have it, I'll join those forces with Renly and Stannis, gods willing."

Ser Barristan nodded, "As you command, Your Grace."

Their journey was slow. One of the packed bags contained a simple change of clothes. Together, with their roughspun tunics as a disguise, they travelled as grandfather and granddaughter. Selene was careful to tuck her long hair into her hood and adjust her cloak so that Stormsbane was hidden from view. The realm knew of the black haired princess who could wield a sword. Eleni followed from a safe distance. The disguise would be for nothing if a large lioness was by her side.

They had been traveling for about a week when a horde of tribesman caught sight of them. They came over the hills screaming, some on horseback, most on foot, wielding crude weapons.

"Keep quiet, Your Grace," Ser Barristan advised as the circle of clansman closed around them.

"Who are you?" a man growled.

Selene kept eyes down and her face hidden by a hood.

"My name is Arstan. I'm traveling north to visit family with my granddaughter. I ask for safe passage."

"Gunther, son of Gurn, wishes to set eyes on this girl," a deeper voice demanded.

Selene hesitated, but then slowly removed her hood and looked around. She noticed for the first time that there were women in the group as well. They hissed when they saw her face. The men's eyes filled with lust.

"I, Shagga, son of Dolf, claim this girl as my prize. She will bear me strong and handsome sons."

"She belongs to the Stone Crows!"

"You already have three wives!"

"I'm due for another!"

"She's a witch!" a woman shrieked. "See how she divides us?"

"Let us pass," Ser Barristan yelled above them all, "and we won't kill you."

The clansman laughed. One stepped forward, "One grandfather against the fearsome clans of the Moon Mountains? One sword against three hundred?"

"Two swords against three hundred," Selene announced with a hand on her sword's pommel. If she was going to die, she would do it with a sword in her hand.

"Besting someone with a sword is easy," called a voice so familiar Selene almost sobbed, "besting someone with your mind is true power."

Selene threw herself off her horse and sprinted toward the voice. Clansman parted to reveal her uncle waddling up to her. She threw herself to her knees and hugged him so fiercely he grunted in pain.

"I thought you were dead," Selene choked into his doublet.

Tyrion hugged her back just as tightly. "I nearly was. What are you doing here?"

Selene glanced around warily. "I need to speak to you alone."

Tyrion told her of his adventures. Of how Cateyln Stark abducted him and blamed him for Bran's fall, of his time in a sky cell, his trial by combat, and how he came to lead a group of tribesmen. Selene told her uncle everything. She told him of her father's death, Joffrey's parentage, and Ned Stark's beheading. She told him of the plots against her and the plan ahead. Tyrion listened, squeezing her hand tightly the entire time. Certain moments made her cry, and she could see his eyes wet with sympathy. He gently touched her left shoulder and told her he would pray for her full recovery. Even though she knew Tyrion was no godly man, she believed he would. She knew she was confiding in a Lannister, but Tyrion was different. He would be on her side, she knew he would.

"I'm going north," Selene finished. "Join me."

Tyrion laughed, "I can't go north. I just escaped Lady Stark's clutches. I'm not going to run back to my captor."

Selene frowned, "Where will you go?"

"There's only one place for me."

Selene shook her head, "Please don't go to grandfather."

"There's a war going on. Maybe I can help?"

"So you are against me?" Selene could scarcely believe Tyrion would choose his father over her.

There was a gleam in his eyes. "I didn't say who I would help. You are the rightful heir, but more importantly, you are my beloved niece and I believe in the world that you could build."

Selene kissed her uncle on the cheek.

Tyrion smiled, "Selene, do you remember the Seven Pointed Star?"

Slowly, a wide grin spread on her face. Years ago, she and Tyrion had developed a cipher using the Faith's holy book so they could send secret messages to each other. From King's Landing to Casterly Rock, ravens would pass between the Maiden and the Smith.

_"I am no Smith." Tyrion argued once, years ago, when they were deciding their aliases._

_"Well, you're no father or a warrior, either", eleven-year-old Selene had reasoned, "and you are definitely no Stranger." She had shivered at the thought, "Besides, smiths are intelligent."_

As Selene was lost in her memories, she absentmindedly caressed the moonstone in the center of her coronet. She was so grateful Lori had managed to pack it.

Tyrion's eyes narrowed at Selene's neck.

"Where is your beloved necklace?"

Tyrion already knew the truth about Jon, so what was the point in lying?

"I gifted it to Jon Snow before we left the Wall. A token for him to keep."

Tyrion looked surprised, and then eyed the moonstone on her crown, "Do you know what they say about twin moonstones?"

Selene crinkled her nose, "Who's they?"

Tyrion looked proud. "Clever girl. It's superstition of course, but superstitions are usually ground in truth."

Selene waited for him to continue.

"Some believe moonstones have the power to connect two souls across great distances."

Selene snorted, "And some believe the sky is blue because we live in the eye of a blue-eyed giant named Macumba."

Tyrion raised his hands. "Laugh if you will, but apparently, when worn, you can feel each other's emotions or even appear in each other's dreams."

Selene was going to laugh, but then she remembered how strong she felt on the Iron Throne with the jewel on her head. She wondered if Jon had been feeling that way at the time. She said as much to Tyrion.

"Perhaps he was." Tyrion shrugged. "It's probably all in the mind. You want to feel a connection with someone far away, and so you imagine you can. The myth was probably created by lovestruck children."

The thought of Jon made her heart ache. Ned had been his father, too.

_If I look back I am lost._

Selene shook her head to clear her mind. "None of that matters now. What matters is I travel north. To Robb."

"Ah, yes," Tyrion said. "Our friend Robb Stark. Last we saw him, he had been the epitome of politeness." Selene rolled her eyes, but Tyrion continued, "Your plan is brazen. Why not go south, where an entire host loyal to you awaits? Why risk your life and your freedom to go north?"

Selene thought of her father as he lay dying in his bed. His last words had been a strategy, and she would stick to it. She thought of Ned and his last words to her. Something about a boy, no doubt his son, Robb. Ned had basically asked her to go north with his dying breath. She would not fail them.

"What I need now is not Dragonstone and ships. What I need is the support of three kingdoms, the north, Vale, and riverlands. It's the right thing to do, uncle," Selene insisted. "I can feel it."

Tyrion sighed, "Try not to die, my dear."

Selene smiled at her uncle, "I won't if you don't."

Tyrion laughed, "I make no promises."

###

Selene, Ser Barristan, and Eleni approached the Stark camp carefully. From the hilltop, they could see the large host spread out beneath them. It seemed as if the northern army stretched beyond the horizon. Even though they were in the northernmost part of the riverlands, light snow flurried in the air and scattered on the ground.

"Robb is here," Selene said, "and he's brought the north with him."

"If we do this, there is no going back, Your Grace," Ser Barristan advised.

Selene nodded. Robb could imprison her, execute her...even Ser Barristan the Bold would not be able to protect her from an entire host. She glanced at Eleni.

"Hide, girl," Selene said. Eleni gave a roar of protest. Selene huffed, " _Now."_ With a final reproachful look, Eleni disappeared into the woods.

"I would prefer her at your side," Selmy admitted.

"I wouldn't. The northern lords will debate what to do with me. I could be useful, but a wild lion, a clear symbol of House Lannister…they would kill her."

Ser Barristan gave her a nod.

Selene looked toward the camp, praying Robb would be the person she remembered. Praying he would accept their fathers' dying wish. She spurred Thunder forward until a wolf began to howl.

Thunder and Harvest whinnied nervously. A chanting began in the center of the camp. Selene couldn't understand it at first, but it got louder and louder, until twenty thousand voices took up the war cry.

"The King in the North!"

"The King in the North!"

" _THE KING IN THE NORTH!_ "


	23. The Queen in the North

Robb's blue eyes were as cold as ice. "What are you doing here?" His voice was low and accusing. It seemed Robb had aged years since she had last seen him. Where there was once stubble was now an auburn beard. He looked much older than his fifteen years.

Selene stood in front of the northern lords in Riverrun's great hall. Thousands of men waited outside in the large camp for the King in the North to decide what to do with the princess. Ser Barristan stood a few steps behind her. Catelyn Stark sat to Robb's right, eyes boring into her.

Grey Wind's head popped up when he smelled Selene. Slowly, the wolf padded to her. In the time since she had last seen this direwolf, he had grown to Eleni's size. Selene held out her hand for him. After a sniff and a glare from golden eyes, the large direwolf licked her palm. Selene noticed Catelyn's shock and Robb's uncertainty.

Selene was aware she was walking on rotten ice. If she was to get what she wanted, she would have to be as clever as Tyrion. She took a deep breath, "I have come to honor our fathers' promises."

"You _dare_ speak of Ned?" Catelyn Starks's words were dripping with poison and grief. "After your brother's crimes?"

"If I may, my lady?" Ser Barristan said, stepping forward. "My queen injured herself trying to save Lord Stark," he gestured to her shoulder.

" _Queen?_ " Lords of the north and the riverlands were whispering to each other.

Doubt flickered in Robb's eyes, "Is this true?"

Selene nodded.

Barristan spoke again, "In front of the Kingsguard, in front of the King's Justice and half of King's Landing, she risked her life to free him. My queen took a sword to the shoulder trying to save your liege lord."

"She failed," Catelyn said, but Selene saw that the northmen were interested. Catelyn turned to Robb, "Don't forget her beast. Don't forget _she_ is a Lannister. The princess came to free her uncle."

"Where _is_ your lioness?" Robb asked. Few lords looked confused, but most didn't. The tale of the princess's beast was spoken throughout the realm.

"Safe from harm," Selene said. "I did not trust her life in this wolve's den."

Robb looked almost amused, but then Selene realized something Catelyn had said.

"My uncle?" Selene asked. Tyrion was heading west, Renly was safe in the stormlands, and Stannis was on Dragonstone. There was only one man to whom Catelyn could be referring.

"You've captured my Uncle Jaime?"

Robb gripped the arms of his chair, "Yes, we have."

It seemed all the northerners were leaning forward in their seats with bated breath, awaiting her reaction. She was being tested.

Selene crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes fixed on nothing in particular. "A great tactical advantage. Lord Tywin sees Jaime as the future of House Lannister and would do anything to free him. And the westerlands have great admiration for him. You've showed the realm how fallible they are. You've proved they're not untouchable."

The northmen were murmuring to each other.

Selene's eyes were on Robb, and she saw a flash of approval on his face, but it was gone as soon as it had come.

Robb nodded at his mother, but his eyes never left Selene.

"You keep using the title _queen,_ " a massive northern lord bellowed, a roaring giant with broken chains emblazoned on his chest. "What makes you queen? If I remember correctly, you have two brothers."

Selene looked around at the lords. Most were northern, but she recognized some riverlord sigils.

"My lords," Selene walked slowly in a circle before them, looking each one in the eyes, "on his deathbed, my father the king named me his heir and successor." She saw confusion in their eyes, but none interrupted her. "I am my father's only trueborn child." She turned to Robb and Catelyn. "My siblings are bastards, born of adultery and incest between my mother Queen Cersei and her twin brother, Jamie Lannister."

The northern lords rose to their feet in protest. They were shouting over each other to be heard.

Robb lifted his hand, and all fell quiet.

Selene continued, "Lord Eddard found out the truth. That is why he was imprisoned. He was to be sent to the Wall," she looked away in shame, "but Joffrey is mad with bloodlust, and executed him."

"If what you say is true," Robb began, "then why have you come here? Surely you knew the risk."

"I came here because it's what our fathers wanted. I came here to be wed. To gain the allegiance of the north, Vale, and riverlands, and join it with my strength in the stormlands and Reach."

"You think our king will marry you after what your brother did to his father?" a northman with pale greys eyes asked. Although his voice was soft, all quieted to listen. "You're either very foolish or very brave."

" _Half_ brother," Selene stressed, "and our fathers made solemn oaths when solidifying our betrothal." She looked to Robb, the corner of her lip curving. "We are sworn to each other."

Robb opened his mouth to speak, but Catelyn was quicker, "My son is betrothed to a daughter of House Frey. After Lord Eddard was imprisoned, we dissolved your betrothal."

Selene fought hard not to snort in disbelief, as it wouldn't be very queenly. However, she found it difficult to hide her dismay and disdain. "House _Frey_?"

Theon spoke, "We needed their bridge."

Selene's brows furrowed, "You would take a _Frey_ over a _Baratheon_? One of Lord Walder's flock over a descendant of storm gods?" She looked around with raised brows, "Frankly, my lords, I feel your king deserves better."

"We will not be insulted!" A stringy brown haired man yelled from the corner of the hall, twin towers joined by a bridge embellished on his doublet. But his voice was a lonely one, and Selene heard a few lords chuckle. Others turned to each other and began to mutter, and Selene smiled when she saw the doubt she had placed festering. No house in the realm had love, respect, or loyalty for Walder Frey. _I have to play the game._

"You would have me marry you?" Robb said, anger flaring. "And what? Sit the Iron Throne myself as your husband? I don't want it."

Selene waved her hand dismissively, "We can make Winterfell our seat. There's no need to live in King's Landing."

"The north is a free and independent kingdom now," a lord said, a silver fist on a scarlet background glimmered on his leathers. "Why would we agree to have our king marry a southerner? A _princess,_ at that. What do you know about the wolfswood or wildlings or winter?"

The lords laughed at her, until a woman spoke up. "As you all know, my brother is the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

Selene turned to the short, grey-haired woman who had spoken. _Maege Mormont,_ Selene knew. The She-Bear was dressed in patched ringmail and had a spiked mace dangling from her waist. A tall girl stood proudly behind her. Selene tried to find any resemblance between the Lady Maege and Lord Commander Jeor.

Lady Mormont continued, "My brother wrote to me after this _princess_ visited the Wall. According to him, I would have liked this future Lady Stark. I've never known my brother to be wrong." Her eyes fell upon Selene's sword. "Do you know how to wield that thing, girl?"

Selene placed her hand proudly on her sword's pommel. They hadn't even bothered to disarm her, for what would large lords have to fear from a girl with a weapon? "I would be honored to give my lady a demonstration."

The lords were silent, but Lady Mormont laughed, revealing a chipped tooth, "Aye, I do believe my brother had the right of it."

"I have intimate knowledge of the Lannister family," Selene continued, "and all the power of Highgarden and Storm's End behind me." She looked around slowly, a mocking smile on her face, "Pray, is it a pretty bridge?"

More laughs, but this time they were not laughing at her, but _with_ her.

"And yet you enter willingly into the wolves den?" A red haired man who sat beside Catelyn said. By the red trout on his doublet and Tully coloring, he could be no one but Lord Edmure. "You claim to have all this power and yet here you stand alone for one knight. Why?"

"For love of my father, for admiration of Lord Eddard, for justice, and for peace," Selene said every word slowly and carefully.

"Love and justice sound like fine things," Lady Catelyn said, "but I'm afraid you may not have heard me earlier. My son and king is promised to a daughter of House Frey. He must honor his oath."

Selene knew the north and their honor.

"You made that promise to me not one year past. Do the Starks only keep oaths when convenient?" Selene cried, looking about the gathering around her. They mumbled.

Robb shifted uncomfortably.

"You swore an oath, not to my bastard half-brother or incestuous mother, but to me and my father the king, who your own father loved like a brother." Selene's chest rose and fell sharply as she spoke, her heart threatening to pound out of her. She looked directly into Robb's eyes, "You may have lost a father to the Lannisters," she took a deep, shaky breath, "but so have I."

The lords' voices grew louder in approval. All eyes fell on Robb, awaiting his decision.

"Keep the princess under guard until I decide how to proceed," Robb commanded. "Ser Barristan, I invite you to be my honored guest."

Ser Barristan stood a little taller, "If my queen is a captive, then so am I."

Robb sighed, "As you wish, my lord. Treat them with respect."

It was Theon who leapt at the chance to escort Selene to her prison. And it was Theon who grabbed her injured arm roughly. Selene bit her lip to keep from crying out, shooting Theon a look of loathing.

"Forgive me, my lady," Theon said in a voice that sounded like he was not the least bit sorry. It seemed Greyjoy was still angry about their duel all those moons ago.

It wasn't until she was alone in a small chamber, with guards at her door and Stormsbane taken from her, that she allowed her stone mask to crumble.

"Gods, what have I done?" Selene whispered to herself. It seemed her gamble had taken a turn for the worst. How was she to know that Robb would find a new betrothed? A _Frey._

Selene knew pride was one of her faults, but she felt insulted all the same. _So the Starks trade me, a princess of two Great Houses and progeny of storm gods, for a whelp of Walder Frey?_

Her grief for her father and for Ned Stark began to rise in her chest. She willed the pain away. It would not help her now. _If I look back I am lost._

She had traded one prison for another. The chamber they had put her in was small, the bed for a single person with a small fire to warm her. It was clean and comfortable, perhaps even a home for a servant of Riverrun, but a prison nonetheless.

Selene knew Ser Barristan would be treated kindly, and so she was glad. She hoped Eleni was far enough from camp to remain in hiding. Selene looked out of her dirty window and glanced up at the fading red comet that was in the corner of the sky. It had appeared after she heard the army declare Robb their king. The comet made her nervous. It was crimson, the color of blood and Lannisters. According to her ancient books back in King's Landing, comets mean dragons. Had a dragon just died somewhere alone in the corner of the world? Or was a dragon just born? Selene could not decide which was worse.

"Lady Catelyn Stark," a guard announced.

Catelyn did not wait for her approval before barging into the room.

"My lady," Selene said with a bow.

Catelyn nodded, "I trust you are being treated well?"

Selene gave the widow a small smile, "Better than I deserve." She swallowed, "My condolences, my lady, I did everything I could..."

"I believe you," Catelyn said, eyeing Selene's injury.

Selene blinked in surprise.

"I've learned the direwolves are never wrong," was all Catelyn offered in explanation. "But what of my daughters? Did you do everything you could for them?"

Selene answered honestly, "They don't have Arya." Catelyn's eyes widened in shock. "She escaped before they could take her. Sansa is still a hostage, and while Joffrey might torment her mind, believe me she is safe. I was delirious from my injury and didn't have the strength or time to rescue her. Ser Barristan barely got me out himself."

"Have you any idea where Arya might have gone?" Catelyn asked feverishly.

Selene shook her head, "None, my lady." She didn't want to voice her opinion, that poor Arya was most likely dead somewhere on the streets of King's Landing. She didn't think a mother deserved to hear that.

"I remember how you and Robb danced together in Winterfell," Lady Catelyn said as she took a seat. "You were so beautiful, and the way Robb looked at you…" she smiled faintly. "I thought you two would be happy together." As if the sun had gone behind a cloud, Catelyn added, "And then you brought in the bastard."

Selene swallowed nervously, but Lady Stark continued, "Despite knowing my commands, you brought him. Invited him to your table to sit with my children. And when you did that...despite myself...I knew you had a good heart."

Selene sighed in relief. She was still confused as to why Catelyn was saying this, but decided not to press the matter. "Thank you, my lady."

Catelyn Stark nodded, "A marriage was the only way Robb could pass the Crossing. Ned was a prisoner and Robert Baratheon was dead. It seemed there was no hope for you two, and now you have returned and put Robb in an impossible position. In front of his men, he must choose which vow to foreswear."

Selene sighed. "I did not know about the Frey girl." _I would have come all the same._

Lady Stark continued as if Selene hadn't spoken, "He can foreswear his vow to Lord Walder, and watch as four thousand Frey men abandon his cause and call him oathbreaker. Or he can foreswear his vow to his father and lose a powerful alliance with the south. But then what is he to do with you? You are Cersei's own daughter. You would make for a valuable hostage."

Selene laughed bitterly, "The queen would only want me to imprison me herself."

Catelyn's eyes flashed, "Be that as it may, you are a Lannister. We are fighting Lannisters. You can't expect Robb's men to forget that."

"I'm no Lannister," Selene flared.

Catelyn _tsk_ ed as she stood to leave, "Such fire. Don't think I have forgotten your pet. Say what you will, but there are flecks of green in your eyes all the same."

###

"Robb Stark, the King in the North."

Selene barely had enough time to stand before Robb came into her chambers. Now that he was closer, she noticed how much taller he had grown since the last time she had seen him.

"My lord," Selene said with a deep curtsey.

"The guard said king," Robb said dryly.

"Forgive me," Selene smiled, "but you are not my king yet."

Robb smiled, and then it soured, " _Gods,_ why are you doing this to me?"

"Robb…"

"You are forcing me to make enemies."

Selene stepped forward, "I did not mean to cause you pain."

Tears swam in his eyes, "My father…"

Selene fought tears of her own, "I am so sorr-"

"You said you would defend him!" Robb yelled. Selene tried to embrace him, but he pushed her away. "I trusted you."

"I told him to go to Winterfell," Selene said weakly. "He would not leave."

"For you?" Robb questioned. "He died for the sake of you."

Selene bit her lip, "I have lost my father, too. Killed by my mother."

Robb took a deep breath to calm himself, "I know. I'm sorry."

"Let us avenge them together. Between us, we can unite five of the kingdoms."

"Four."

"What?"

"My aunt Lysa in the Vale will not rise for me."

"My uncle Stannis has not risen for me, either. But still, Robb, four out of the seven kingdoms. If Dorne and the Vale stay out of the fighting, then all the Lannisters have is the westerlands and the crownlands."

"War," Robb said in a low voice. "When I wake up, when I fall asleep, all I hear is talk of war. I can't even escape it in my dreams." He looked so tired, "The things I have seen, Selene…"

She took his hand, "That's why I came here, Robb. To make the war shorter. I could have traveled south to my uncle Renly, to safety, but I didn't. I came north to danger because I knew it was the best chance of winning quickly and sparing the most lives."

Robb gave her a hopeful look, "Let's not speak of war."

Selene laughed, "What would you rather speak of? The weather?"

"Love." And with that, he pulled a cloak out from behind him. It was a beautiful shade of deep black with grey wolf fur trimming. It even had a wolf head's on the side, like the cloaks Robb and Catelyn wore. The silver clasp bore a sigil she had never seen before, a wolf and a stag addorsed and rampant. Selene could just make out a small crescent moon on the stag's breast.

Selene was visibly taken aback, "It's beautiful."

Robb smiled at her, "Recognize the pelt?"

Selene frowned, and then gasped, "It can't be…"

"The very same," Robb was beaming. "The one I caught for you in the wolfswood the day after our betrothal announcement."

Selene gaped, "You've kept it with you? All this time?"

Robb nodded. "Do you like the sigil? On the clasp?"

She ran her fingers over it gently. "Addorsed," she said softly, "Fighting besides each other." Selene was touched.

Robb bit his lip to keep from laughing, "All this talk of marriage, and this surprises you?"

"I never dared to hope you could care for me after everything that's happened." Selene looked away. "I was afraid your feelings had changed."

His fingers slipped beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his own. "They have not," Robb said surely.

Jon had touched her chin like that on the Wall. Selene pushed the memory out of her mind. She forced herself to remember her epiphany in the hot pool up in the north what felt like a lifetime ago. Robb was her reality and future. He would be her husband and king.

Selene looked up into Robb's blue eyes. They were so unlike her own. Where hers were dark like a storm at sea, his were as clear as an icy river. Her eyes flicked down to his lips.

Leaning forward, Robb pressed his lips lightly on hers. Selene's breath hitched in surprise, but she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Taking this as encouragement, Robb wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed her to him. The battles had made him strong, and Selene could feel his muscles under his clothes. He tasted like smoke and earth.

They pulled apart, grinning like children. _We are children,_ Selene thought as her cheeks burned.

Robb's own cheeks were rosy, "Selene, I want this more than you know."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Selene urged.

"There is one thing I need to know."

"Ask it of me," Selene whispered, eyes flitting back and forth between his.

"If you are to be my wife and queen, then you must be so entirely. Absolutely."

Selene looked down at the silver clasp and the new sigil she would take as her own. "I will only trust stags and wolves."

"And if a stag turns on a wolf?"

Ned had asked her nearly the same question months ago. Her answer was the same. "I would do what is just."

The answer that pleased the father seemed to satisfy the son.

"You once told me we would be happy together," Selene said softly.

"And I still believe that," Robb assured her, placing his hand over hers where it rested on his chest, "but things are not as simple as they once were. My lords need to allow it."

"Your lords made you a king."

"And can _unmake_ me just as easily."

Selene sighed, knowing he was right. "What do they say out there?"

"Many of them like you," Robb said, almost in disbelief.

Selene laughed, "Don't sound so surprised."

"Lady Mormont swears by you. She says we don't need some soft Frey girl, but a queen of iron. Some argue that you're just a pretty face speaking pretty words. Some say we need your uncles and their armies. Others think you mean to kill me."

Selene pretended to look worried, "They have found me out."

Robb kissed her again in response. It was getting more and more difficult to stop.

"What should I do?" Selene asked.

"Make one last argument," Robb advised. "Convince them that you are the queen they deserve. Bare your steel. Prove your worth. You were doing a fair job earlier." He looked rather impressed.

"I only convinced half of them."

"Now convince the other half."

###

"Any last words?" Robb asked sternly from the dais.

Selene straightened where she stood.

"My lords," Selene began, circling, making sure to look each one in the eye. "It all rests _entirely_ in your hands. What kind of queen does the north deserve? A girl who hides behind her father's walls until the fighting's over? A weak-chinned Frey to give your king stringy heirs?"

The northman laughed heartily. They were loud enough to drown the storming out of a few Freys. Selene paid them no mind. They would not like to hear what she had to say, anyway.

"Or," Selene continued, "one who will keep you king's counsel and bleed beside you on the battlefield? A storm, not a girl, whose lion will make the Lannisters tremble in fear!"

Most of the lords cheered, but Selene noticed a fair few were still quiet.

Selene spread her arms in supplication, "My lords, I've heard legends of the old Kings of Winter, but never a word on their queens. I swear to you, by the old gods and the new, on every god that has ever been, I will be a queen to remember!"

Some stood up cheering. One who stood, but did not speak, was a man she now knew to be Greatjon Umber. He was one of the largest men she had ever seen at nearly seven feet tall.

"Pretty words," the Greatjon boomed, looking around the Hall. His eyes found Lady Mormont's, "You expect me to believe this girl is a warrior? My fingers are fatter than her."

More laughs.

Selene looked up at him with steel and held out her arm toward Robb. "My sword."

Greatjon's head drew back in surprise, but his hand twitched near his pommel. "I cannot fight this girl and call it honorable. She's shorter than my sword!"

Robb spoke as Ser Barristan put Stormsbane in her hand. Umber looked intrigued by the black blade. "You've questioned her skill, Lord Umber, and now you must let her prove it."

Selene took a few steps back and got into a fighting stance.

She twirled her sword in her hand as the Greatjon, with two hands, threw down his greatsword in a large arc.

Quick as she could, she threw her sword to meet it, stepped to the right, and pushed, ending with her sword tip level with his eyes.

He straightened in surprise. Selene heard a woman's laugh sharp and clear over the silence of the hall. She focused on Lord Umber, fighting a smirk that threatened to rise on her lips at the startled looked in his eyes.

Umber tried the same move. Instead of using her sword, Selene turned her body to dodge the blow. He turned his sword in his hand and swung at her neck. Selene ducked and parried his sword as it flew back toward her face. He swung his sword again, as if chopping down a tree, and Selene leaned back as far as her bones would allow, seeing the sword sail before her eyes. She moved her feet, getting behind him. His strength was something to behold, but she was quicker by far. From behind him, she swung with all her strength. He turned slowly, and was just able to raise his sword in time to block her. She slashed again, this time tapping the flat of her sword hard on his left hand. He gasped in pain and before he could think, she slashed at his right and disarmed him. She leveled her sword at his chest.

A slow grin spread over his face. "Aye, it seems Lord Commander Mormont saw true. You've got southern blood but northern spirit." He picked up his sword, pressed the tip to the ground before him, and bent the knee.

"The Queen in the North!"

"The Queen in the North!" Others were kneeling. More and more lords were taking up the call. Ser Barristan, Lord Edmure, Lady Mormont, Lord Glover, even Theon Greyjoy...more and more until every man was on his knees.

Selene watched them all kneel around her, awestruck. They were putting their faith in her. _They are my people now, too._

The only man who wasn't kneeling was sitting on the largest chair on the upper dais. Selene met Robb's eyes and held his gaze proudly as the shouts began outside. It felt like the whole world was shouting at once.

" _THE QUEEN IN THE NORTH!_ "

* * *

**Author's Note**

Hello everyone! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a comment, if you can. 

Here's the [link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0Ls9qvoqLw) to a little music for the last scene, if you're a fan of music in your stories. No worries if not, it is not necessary to the story. 

And here is a little second-by-second line up of the song with the story for your imaginings.

0:00 Selene levels the sword in sword at Umber's disarmed chest. The hall is silent except for Lord Umber's pants.

0:13 Greatjon grins.

0:18 Greatjon speaks.

0:43 Greatjon declares Selene Queen in the North

0:45 The other lords take up the cry. Selene looks around at all their faces in awe.

1:02 Selene makes eye contact with Robb.


	24. The Lion of Lannister

"The Queen in the North," Jaime Lannister announced mockingly as he sat chained in his own shit. "What an honor."

Selene stared at her uncle in silence. The Lion of Lannister did not look so intimidating now as he sat in this small cage within the gates of Riverrun.

"I take it you have not come all this way to free me."

More silence.

Jaime sighed, "Nice cloak."

Selene was wearing Robb's gift. The silver clasp gleamed in the distant torchlight.

Jaime's eyes scanned the engraved wolf and stag. "Why, niece, I do believe the Stark boy is in love. Good thing too, as his love has bought you an army. And all it cost was the gold between your legs." His grin flashed. "You've learned a great deal from Cersei. Are you looking for someone to give you away to your husband?"

Selene let his taunts wash over her like a wave.

Jaime scoffed, "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're above me."

Selene raised a brow, "I'm not the one sitting in my own shit. I'm not the one who got captured by an enemy."

"No, you're just going to wed and bed one," Jaime replied. Despite his rough appearance, his words were as smooth as ever. "Tell me, is the Young Wolf truly pretty enough to turn you against your family?"

"Which family is that? The one who murdered my father? Or the one who executed Lord Stark? Forgive me, they are one and the same."

Jaime didn't even look away. "You think you're better than us? Name one way you differ from me."

"I don't sleep with my sibling, for a start."

Jaime's eyes flashed, "I have no idea-"

"Don't lie to me," Selene whispered. "No more lies. Mother confessed with her own lips. I've sent a letter to every house in the realm. Every man, woman, and child in the Seven Kingdoms will know soon."

Her letter had read: _All men know me for the trueborn daughter of Robert Baratheon, the First of His Name, by his queen Cersei of House Lannister. I declare upon the honor of my House that my beloved father Robert our late king, left no trueborn male issue of his body. The boy Joffrey, the boy Tommen, and the girl Myrcella being abominations born of incest between Cersei Lannister and her brother Jaime the Kingslayer. Lord Jon Arryn of the Eeyrie and Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, both Hands of the King, were murdered for discovering the truth. By right of birth and blood, I do this day lay claim to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. The kingdoms of the north, stormlands, riverlands, and Reach support my claim. Let all remaining true men and women declare their loyalty. Under the sign and seal of Selene of House Baratheon, the First of Her Name, Rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Queen in the North, and Protector of the Realm._ For her seal, she had replicated the design Robb had engraved on her cloak's clasp.

Jaime sighed, "I suppose you've claimed the Iron Throne? I never saw you as ambitious."

"I did not claim it out of ambition," Selene flared.

"Father will not be happy," Jaime said with a raised brow. "Do you remember what happened to the last family to cross ours?"

Selene swallowed nervously. She thought of the Targaryens, but she knew Jaime was speaking of the Reynes of Castamere, a house Tywin wiped from the earth decades ago when they rebelled against their liege lords.

As if on cue, a gentle sound of padded feet circled the cage. Jaime, chained by his throat, could only turn his head so far. Out of the corner of his eye, Selene saw him glimpse Eleni's pale fur.

"I remember everything," Selene said as a low growl rose from the lion's throat. "Not only that, I know everything. Joffrey is your son." Selene put her hand on Eleni's back as she stared down her uncle. "And you," Selene couldn't keep the rage form her voice, "you pushed Bran Stark out of a window because he saw you with my mother." Once the truth had come out, everything had fallen into place. The blond hair that Catelyn found in the tower, the dagger sent to kill Bran, and now the truth about their adultery all pointed that way.

"You have proof?"

"The proof is in your eyes, Uncle," Selene said softly. "You were never good at lying to me."

Jaime smiled, "I always did have a soft spot for you. Cersei never understood it, since you're not mine."

Selene had heard the truth from her mother, but for some reason it hurt more coming from Jaime.

"I was the first person to hold you, after your mother, the night you were born. Did you know that?"

Selene didn't, but stayed quiet.

Jaime's face split into a wide grin. "Of course you didn't. You were born in the middle of a cloudless night. Your mother had been laboring for hours, screaming and screaming in pain. I remember wishing for something to do, someone I could fight, to end her suffering. And then you were born. The birthing women cleaned you up, swaddled you in silver silk, and placed you in your mother's arms. 'She's beautiful,' I said. 'I'm sorry she's not yours,' Cersei told me. But I didn't care. You were still her child. Her first child. With a wicked grin, your mother placed you in my arms and told me to name you."

Selene took a step back in shock, "You named me?"

For the first time in years, Jaime's smile didn't cut, "Your mother wanted you to have something of me. I walked you over to the window and looked up. The moon had been huge and full then, and all of King's Landing was bathed in white. I looked down at you, all bundled in silver with your hair as black as night and big eyes almost grey in the moonlight. You had stopped crying and were just staring up at me. Your mother has always been the golden sun of my life, so I named you Selene, for the moon."

"I thought," she was shaking her head. "My father-"

"Robert was hunting." Jaime interrupted. "When he returned, he presented your mother with a stag's head. She presented him with a baby and told him she had named you. Robert liked the name well enough, so Selene you stayed."

Her throat clenched, "Why are you telling me this?"

Jaime's silky voice turned to iron, "So you remember who your family is. You're marrying Starks and dining with Tullys while the uncle who named you rots in chains."

"You could be lying."

Jaime smirked, "I've done more than name you." He eyed her scabbard. "Or have you forgotten who it was who trained you?"

"Ser Barristan has been training me for-"

"The lessons would have never started without me."

Selene suddenly felt very small and remembered the day in the Great Hall of the Red Keep when Jaime Lannister had come before the court to argue for Selene.

" _Sh_ _e's a girl," King Robert himself said simply from the Iron Throne, as if that ended the argument._

_"She's the daughter of a warrior king," Jaime argued smoothly, knowing how to manipulate Robert's pride. "She's not a delicate Targaryen princess, she's a child of stags and lions. A descedant of storm gods and kings."_

_Cersei was furious, and young Selene shrunk further behind her uncle's white cloak under her mother's gaze. "As I have told you before, brother, it's highly inappropriate. Girls should not learn weaponry, and for a highborn girl it is unthinkable."_

_"In Dorne, women are allowed to train with a weapon of their choosing," Jaime said, and Selene could see a her father's eyes narrow in contemplation. "Surely a Baratheon girl is just as strong." Jaime raised his hands innocently. "I'm simply suggesting she be given a chance. The princess has been stealing and playing with wooden swords for months. She should be given proper instruction."_

_"Come forward, child," Robert's voice boomed through the hall._

_Selene looked up unsurely at her uncle._

_"Go ahead," Jaime encouraged with kind eyes, as green as summer leaves._

_Selene took a few tentative steps forward. Her father the king was so big and loud, but Jaime was behind her, and that made her feel strong._

_"You want to learn how to fight, princess?" The king asked._

_Selene took a deep breath and looked up at her father's deep blue eyes. "Yes, Father."_

_"Why?"_

_"Joffrey is younger than me and his lessons have already started!"_

_Robert laughed, "Joffrey is a boy, and the crown prince. He will learn to wield a sword and you will learn to sow."_

_Selene crossed her arms over her chest, "Sowing is boring."_

_Robert chuckled, "Perhaps, but that is the way things are done."_

_"The way is stupid," Selene said._

_The court began to laugh._

_"Forgive me, Your Grace," Cersei had said through clenched teeth. "It seems our daughter needs more lessons in courtesy._

_But Robert had laughed loudest of them all. "It's nothing, woman._ _"_

_Jaime spoke up, "You are the king. You could change the way things are done if you wish. Give your daughter a chance. She'll most likely give up after realizing how difficult swordsmanship really is."_

_Robert stroked his black beard thoughtfully, "And you will train her?"_

_Ser Jaime's smile flashed, "It would be my honor, if it pleases Your Grace."_

_Cersei gripped the arms of her chair tightly, "My king, I am against this. When she comes of age, which man in the realm will want her?"_

_"Any man with half a brain," Robert said shortly. "She's a princess." He turned to Selene, "You may begin training. But remember, when it gets too difficult, you may quit."_

_Selene bounded up the steps of the Iron Throne and jumped in her father's lap._

_"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!" With each word, she kissed his face._

_Robert howled with laughter, courtiers chuckled, and Jaime beamed. The only sour face in the room was Cersei's._

_The very next day, her training began._

_"Pick up your wooden sword," Jaime commanded._

_Selene gripped it with two hands._

_Jaime shook his head, "Not two hands, one."_

_Selene tried. "It's too heavy!"_

_"It's as heavy as it needs to be to make you strong," Jaime told her. "Now lift it forward in front of you."_

_Selene complied._

_"Hold."_

_Selene held the sword out. After a few seconds, her arm began to ache. "When can I stop?"_

_"When I tell you to. Hold."_

_The dull ache turned into a burning pain. Selene felt beads of sweat drip down her face. When she could stand it no more, she threw down her sword in anger, "This is stupid! Joffrey doesn't train like this."_

_"No, he doesn't," Jaime agreed, "and you will be stronger and better for it."_

_Noticing her expression, Jaime knelt in front of her, looking her in the eyes._

_"After everything I've done to get your father's permission, will you give up so easily?" he asked, amused._

_Selene uncrossed her arms and looked down, feeling embarrassed. "No."_

_"Good, because to be as skilled as you want to be, you have to work hard every single day. A cub does not wake up one day to find itself a full grown lion. It takes years of patience. Do you promise to be patient?"_

_Selene met his eyes. Jaime was smiling at her, and his smile was as radiant as the sun. She couldn't help smiling back. "Yes, I promise."_

_Jaime nodded. "Good, now pick up your sword."_

Selene's hands were balled into fists so tight, she nearly drew blood, "Perhaps the lessons wouldn't have started without you, but have you forgotten how they ended?"

"I will never forget," Jaime said softly, his eyes full of remorse. "I should have fought harder for you. After a year you were doing so well with a wooden sword. You could balance it in your hands for hours and you had mastered all the basic steps. And then you bested Joffrey in a spar. You gave him a nasty bruise and made him cry. I remember how guilty you felt." Jaime looked away. "If only you still cared about him that much."

Selene grit her teeth.

Jaime continued, "Cersei came to me that night. _Stop training her. You're putting Robert's child before your own._ Of course, I never cared that you weren't mine. I actually _felt_ like you were. But as you now know so well, women are masters in the art of persuasion. Just ask the Stark boy."

Selene took a step forward and slapped him.

Jaime's face snapped to the side, his cheek reddening. He looked up at her, his eyes infinitely sad. "I can still hear you sobbing outside my chamber doors."

_A year into training, Jaime walked up to her in the courtyard. All their lessons had made her bolder, almost arrogant. King Robert had been surprised when she didn't grow bored of training, and was now encouraging her to prove herself as fierce as him. With the Demon of the Trident for a father and the Lion of Lannister for a teacher, Selene's opinion of herself was dangerouly high._

_"What will I master today?" Selene asked with a smug grin as she spun her wooden sword deftly with one hand. "I think I'm ready for steel. Dull steel, to start, but then I will be able to wield blades so sharp…" she faltered when she saw her uncle's pained expression._

_"Uncle Jaime?"_

_He swallowed, "My dear niece, I'm afraid I have some bad news."_

_Selene sighed, "Alright, I'm not ready for steel."_

_"Not that," Jaime said. "I'm afraid I can no longer continue your training."_

_Selene was sure she heard incorrectly. "What?"_

_"Ser Barristan has agreed to become your new master. With a man like that guiding you, I promise you'll be the most fearsome swordswoman the realm has even known."_

_"I don't want Ser Barristan to teach me," Selene argued. Ser Barristan was her sword shield and a legendary fighter, but Jaime was her uncle, her kin, the savior of King's Landing. "I want you."_

_Jaime shook his head and began to walk away, "I'm sorry, cub."_

_"Wait!" Selene cried as he ran away. Gripping her wooden sword, she ran after him. His strides were longer, and he stayed far ahead. No matter how quickly she ran, she could only just glimpse the end of his white cloak as he made his way through halls to his chamber in the White Sword Tower, the apartments of the Kingsguard._

_"Uncle Jaime!" No one stopped her. Not her father's household guards, or her mother's, or any member of the Kingsguard. They all stepped out of her way as she sprinted after him. "Come back!"_

_When Jaime entered his room, he slammed the door behind him. Selene heard the locks slide into place as she beat her small hands against the door._

_"Uncle Jaime! Why?" Each word came with a smack of her palm to the door. "What did I do wrong? I won't do it anymore! I swear it, please!"_

_Silence was her only response._

_Tears were pouring down her face before she knew it. "You said you would train me! You promised!" She started hitting the door with her wooden sword, not caring about the splinters that dug into her hands. "UNCLE JAIME! PLEASE!" she choked on her sobs._

_The door swung open. Jaime loomed large over her, his face red. "Training you was a mistake," he said bitterly. "A woman shouldn't wield a sword. Go back to your septa and learn your place."_

_The door shut in her face._

_Selene was speechless with betrayal. She had no words, so she kicked and clawed and screamed at the door until her voice was hoarse and her fingers bloody._

_Selene wasn't sure how much time passed with her beating on the door, but Ser Barristan came for her eventually. With a sure arm around her small body, he lifted her up as if she weighed nothing. Selene struggled against his grip, still screaming for her uncle until Grand Maester Pycelle gave her milk of the poppy to make her sleep._

_For weeks, all she did was sleep and cry. Only Tyrion, when he visited the capital, was able to get through to her._

_"I'm sorry, cub," Tyrion said as she sipped her soup. It was the only food she could keep down._

_"Don't call me that," Selene snapped._

_Hurt flashed in Tyrion's eyes. "_ _I'm sure my brother has his reasons."_

_"He told me his reasons. I shall never forget them," she said in a voice that sounded older than she was. "I'll show him. I'll show him, my mother, and the whole realm what I can do with a sword. I swear it on the old gods and the new."_

_Tyrion smiled, but it was sad, "I know you will."_

From his chains, Ser Jaime Lannister looked so small. Gone was her hero, the Lion of Lannister, who stood proud and tall in her memories in his immaculate white cloak. The man chained before her, covered in filth, was a man without honor.

"I still hear your cries in my sleep," Jaime said, his eyes scanning her face. "I have many regrets, but that is chief amongst them."

"I'm glad for it," Selene said through clenched teeth. "It was the first lesson you truly taught me. Never be too trusting, even of family. Ser Barristan was a better teacher than you ever were. All I could learn from a man like you is arrogance and dishonor."

Jaime looked away.

"Thank you for telling me all of this," Selene said, her eyes dry as she stepped out of the cage, shutting the door as he had done to her so many years ago. "All doubt has left me. I know my course, and you have only yourself to blame." 


	25. The White Wedding

Selene Baratheon had always dreamt of being wed in the Great Sept of Baelor.

In her dreams, all the lords and ladies of a realm at peace gathered in the Great Sept to pay homage to their princess. In her dreams, she was covered in the finest ivory silks and priceless jewels. In her dreams, her husband was a maiden's fantasy and the consummation was passionate and painless. At least the husband part was right. It was too early to tell about the consummation.

Selene never thought she would marry at Riverrun during a war. She never thought she would be without her father to give her away. Yet here she was, being attended to by handmaidens who had been young when Catelyn and Lysa Tully still lived in Riverrun. A noble lady hadn't lived in the castle since Robert's Rebellion, so they had no need for young handmaidens who knew the latest fashions. Selene wished more than anything that Lori was here to make Selene blush with her bawdy jokes. She wished more than anything that Myrcella was by her side, dressed in gold, to gasp and fawn over Selene's wedding dress. Or that Tommen was playing with Eleni on the floor while his sisters readied themselves.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Selene called.

Catelyn Stark walked into her temporary chambers, holding something. She gave Selene a small smile, "You look beautiful."

"Thank you," Selene said as she stared at her own reflection. She looked older than she ever had. The dresses available on such short notice had been few. Catelyn's wedding dress had been too long, Lysa's too large, but the dress of Minisa Tully, Catelyn's late mother, had fit her best. The dress was made almost entirely of delicate Myrish lace of pure ivory. The lace hugged her arms and chest and the dress cinched tight at the waist, emphasizing the curves of her hips and breasts. At her waist, the dress billowed out and cascaded to the floor. She looked like a woman grown.

The hands of the women helping her dress were clumsy and slow, so Selene braided her own hair. Lori would have done a far better job with a delicately intricate design, but Selene did the best she was able. Two small simple braids at her temples that met at the back of her head, the rest of her dark hair curling to her waist. The handmaids had rubbed rouge on her lips. As she stared into the mirror, all she could see was her mother's slender neck, high cheekbones, and heart shaped face. Despite it being her wedding day, the face reflected back at her was serious.

Catelyn spoke, "If we could have a moment alone?"

As the serving women shuffled out of the room, Selene noticed what Catelyn was holding.

"Is that…"

Catelyn nodded, "I've had several women working day and night to have it ready in time." And with that, she placed the maiden's cloak firmly on her shoulders. It looked like spun gold, and in its center was the proud black stag of her house. Selene had accepted that she would go to her husband without her house colors, but when Catelyn placed the Baratheon cloak on her shoulders, she nearly wept.

"It's not real gold," Catelyn apologized. "My house isn't rich, but-"

"I am more grateful than you will ever know," Selene interrupted, tears in her eyes.

Catelyn looked at her worriedly, "Are you sad, my lady?"

Selene shook her head, "It must be nerves."

"It's a special day," Catelyn said. "Your wedding day is one of the most important days of your life. That and the day you bring a child into the world."

_A child. The consummation._ Selene pushed those thoughts out of her mind. _One life changing moment at a time._

It seemed Catelyn did not want to abandon the subject. "Your mother taught you what you need to know? For the bedding ceremony?"

Selene nodded. She knew the basics, but it didn't feel like enough.

"Do not fear, child," Catelyn said surely as she took Selene's hand. "A bit of pain, but be patient. I am certain my son will be gentle and kind."

The more people told her not to be afraid, the more fearful she became.

There was a knock at the door.

"It is time, my queen," Ser Barristan's voice announced from the other side.

Catelyn placed her hands on Selene's arms reassuringly. Selene took a deep breath, opened the door, and took her knight's arm.

Ser Barristan led her through the castle. He was the first of her Queensguard, her sworn shield, and though Selene wished for her father, she was glad for his presence.

Snow floated gently in the air. Small flakes kissed her cheeks and reflected in the light of the torches as Ser Barristan led her through the wood. The godswood of Riverrun was a bright and airy garden with elms, redwoods, wildflowers, nesting birds, and streams. The snow covered everything in a thin blanket, and quieted the world. High lords of the north and riverlands were in attendance, but Selene barely looked at them. Her eyes were on the man who was to be her husband.

King Robb Stark stood tall and proud in his rich grey velvet doublet with the direwolf of House Stark stitched on his chest. His auburn hair looked dark and rich in the dim torchlight, and on top of his head was his newly forged crown. He was a vision, and he was hers. His eyes slowly rose from the trim of her dress, to her hips, to her chest, eventually settling on her face. When they found her own, his eyes filled with a look Selene now recognized. There was some truth in Jaime's taunts. Robb Stark was in love. Selene felt her heart beat frantically in her chest.

When Ser Barristan stopped before the heart tree, Ser Brynden stepped forward. After Robb, Hoster Tully was the highest ranking person in Riverrun. As Catelyn's father was too ill to give the ceremony, his brother the Blackfish, tall, lean, and clean shaven, had volunteered.

"Who comes before the old gods this night?" Ser Brynden asked in a hoarse, smoky voice.

"Selene of the House Baratheon comes here to be wed," Ser Barristan had learned the words for a northern ceremony. "A woman grown, trueborn, noble, and a queen in her own right. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods."

Selene stared at the slender, carved heart tree. The children of the forest had carved a sad face on its bark.

"Who comes to claim her?" Selmy asked.

Selene's eyes shifted to Robb. He took a step forward.

"Robb of House Stark," he announced, blue eyes blazing, "Lord of Winterfell, King in the North and of the Trident." His eyes turned to Ser Barristan, "Who gives her?"

"Ser Barristan of House Selmy, Lord Commander of her Queensguard and her sworn shield as avowed by her father, King Robert, the First of his Name."

"Queen Selene," Ser Brynden asked kindly, "will you take this man?"

Snow fell silently around Robb and was getting caught in his hair. It seemed the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for her oath. Robb gave her a small smile, and she could see how nervous he was. Strangely, that made her feel less so. She stepped forward.

Selene spoke so softly it was almost a whisper, "I take this man." A smile broke on her face, wide enough to match Robb's.

"If the bride and groom would join each other in prayer before the gods?" Ser Bryden asked.

Robb offered his arm, and Selene gave Ser Barristan a sweet kiss on the cheek before she took it. Robb led her to the weirwood, and they both fell to their knees before it in silent prayer. All Selene could hear was the sound of her own breathing. She wondered if Robb could hear it, too.

Selene tried to pray. Prayer had never come easy to her, especially since her father's death, but she could feel the presence of the old gods as she knelt and prayed. _All the Seven have ever given me is silence. Perhaps you will listen, old gods of the forest. Let this war be over quickly, let justice be served, and let Robb and I find happiness in each other._

After a minute, she heard Robb rise besides her. She turned to face him, but stayed on her knees as he walked behind her and slowly removed her Baratheon cloak. As her father's colors left her shoulders, she shivered, and she wasn't sure if it was with the cold. With sure fingers, Robb replaced it with a white cloak as bright as snow, emblazoned with a grey direwolf. He returned to standing before her.

Selene slowly lifted her eyes to meet his and saw the crown he was holding in his hands. This wasn't just their wedding. It was her coronation.

The crown was a smaller, thinner version of his own. An open circlet of hammered bronze incised with runes of the First Men, surmounted by nine black iron spikes wrought in the shape of longswords. According to Robb, the old Kings of Winter wore such crowns. Of gold and silver and gemstones it had none; bronze and iron were the metals of winter, dark and strong to fight against the cold.

"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the peoples of the north and riverlands according to their respective laws and customs," Robb asked.

"I solemnly swear so to do." Selene spoke in a voice she hoped was regal.

"Will you, to your power, pose law and justice in mercy to be executed in all your judgements?"

"I will," Selene swore.

"Then by the sacred laws vested in me," Robb said as he placed the crown gently on her head, "I crown you Selene, Queen in the North and of the Trident."

He extended his hand to help her rise. Selene stood and turned to face the lords.

"Long live the Queen!" Robb called.

"Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen!" chanted the lords. "Queen in the North! Queen of the Trident!"

In the name of northern tradition, Robb swept her off her feet and carried her to the Great Hall of Riverrun where the wedding feast was to take place.

The king and queen sat at the high table while everyone sat below them. Musicans played cheerful tunes, and the smell of roast meat floated in the hall. Lords and ladies were drinking and laughing, but there was a weight in the air. They were in the middle of a war. After the wedding, preparation would be made for Robb's host to leave Riverrun and take to the battlefield.

Eleni and Grey Wind lay sprawled on the ground in front of their table. It had taken a while for the wolf and lion to grow used to each other, but the beasts seemed to finally be at ease. Selene noticed lords glance at Eleni distrustfully, but Robb had made sure her lioness could be at her side. Robb was oddly proud that the two of them had beasts for companions. According to him, it proved they were a perfect match.

There was a single chair before them at their table, and in turns Robb and Selene hosted lords of the north and riverlands who offered their congratulations to the couple. Lord Tytos Blackwood of Raventree Hall uttered kind words through his close-cropped salt and pepper beard. The immense Ser Wendel Manderly with his round moon face, loudly proclaimed his everlasting joy at their blessed union. Heavy-set Lord Jonos Bracken blustered his way through polite conversation. Lord Bolton gave them a curt nod and his best wishes through pale eyes. Young and bold Patrek Mallister spoke on behalf of his father Lord Jason Mallister of Seaguard.

After the tenth or twentieth lord, Selene looked at Robb. "Perhaps we could be alone for a while?"

Robb smiled and kissed the top of her hand gently, "Of course, my lady."

"Your Grace!" Theon Greyjoy called from down the hall.

Robb leaned forward in his chair, and then glanced at his wife.

Selene chuckled, "Go, my lord. I shall be content to wait here."

Robb placed a swift kiss on her lips and stood to speak with his close friend.

Selene sighed and took a long sip of wine. It was a mercy just to be alone for a moment.

Ser Barristan, who sat with Catelyn Stark at the second-highest table, approached.

"My queen."

"My knight," Selene said with a smile. "You wish to speak with me?"

Ser Barristan nodded, "Your Grace, I hope it is not too forward of me to say that of all those present, I know you best."

"It is true," Selene admitted. "Speak your mind, ser."

"I have trained you for many years," Ser Barristan continued. "I know your face and you seem…" he struggled to find the right word, "afraid."

Selene sighed, "My whole life I have been a Baratheon, and now I'm not."

"Your mother kept her maiden name," he reminded her. "She is still known as Cersei Lannister, and never goes by Cersei Baratheon."

Selene glanced at Robb, who was in deep conversation with Theon. Greyjoy's arm was around Robb's shoulder, and the older boy was making a rude gesture with his hand. Even from this distance, Selene could see the fierce blush on her lord husband's face. It seemed the experienced kraken was giving the innocent wolf some advice.

Selene looked up at Ser Barristan, "Perhaps I'll keep my name until the war is over. Or, like Lady Catelyn, use both. I could be Selene Baratheon Stark."

"Whatever your heart desires, my queen," Ser Barristan said. "I wish I could see you smile."

"We're in the middle of a war," Selene said. "An exchange of vows, no matter how sacred, doesn't change that. This day provides some respite from the bloodshed, but never forget the war still goes on. These lords sure won't."

Ser Barristan nodded as Robb began to make his way back to the table, "I wish you a lifetime of happiness, Your Grace." And with a bow, went back to his table.

Robb sat by her side, his crown resting firmly on his auburn curls. The shade of red in his hair matched the red in his face, and Selene imagined she knew what Theon had so desperately wanted to say to Robb.

Selene's eyes found Theon's, and saw the deep smirk on his face.

"Would you care to dance, my lady?" Robb asked. "I still recall how well you danced at Winterfell."

Despite the music, no one was dancing. Selene would have loved to dance, and were they not at war, she would have. But the last thing she needed was the lords to see her as a frivolous princess. Dancing seemed like a luxury now.

"I am tired, my lord," Selene told Robb with a smile. "I hope you can forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive. Selene," Robb started carefully, "would you like to avoid the bedding ceremony?"

Her head drew back in surprise, "Why?"

Robb's eyes were sympathetic, "I don't want you to be uncomfortable. The lords will carry you to the bedchamber and strip-"

"I know what happens," Selene finished. The lords would raise her high above their heads and whisk her away to her marriage bed. They would tear her dress apart and take liberties and shout dirty jokes. And when she and Robb were finally alone, they would yell vulgar suggestions through the door. Selene could not think of anything worse, but Robb had surprised her by giving her a choice.

"You are their queen. They don't have the right to touch you." Robb leaned close in her ear and murmured, "Only I do."

Selene looked at Robb incredulously as he gave her a wicked grin. She tried to look insulted, but she couldn't stop the small smile and furious blush that was spreading over her face.

Robb stood and announced, "If my lords will forgive me, the queen and I are very tired and will now retire."

"And the bedding ceremony?" Lord Umber bellowed.

Selene stood, "If my lords wish to hold a naked woman, they should get themselves wives."

Laughter filled the hall, but no one laughed as loud as Robb. He took her hand gallantly and led her away.

Selene's heart was beating erratically and her breathing was shallow as Robb escorted her to their rooms. _My corset must be too tight,_ she thought as Robb gestured for her to enter their bedchambers.

The chambers were the largest in Riverrun, besides Lord Hoster Tully's rooms. Selene was surprised to see the room covered in candles, which cast everything in dim shadows. She walked over to the giant four-poster bed and saw the flower petals scattered amongst the pure white sheets. Pure white so her maiden's blood would show.

Selene swallowed nervously. She knew what she was here for.

Slowly, she began to untie the fastenings at the back of her dress. She started at the base, and slowly, one by one, she worked on the ribbons that held her corset upright.

Robb stayed by the door, and Selene could feel the heat of his gaze on her back. As she untied, he stepped forward quietly. Selene heard the sound of fabric sliding to the floor and guessed he had shrugged off his doublet. She felt his fingers on her wrists.

"Allow me," he said quietly to her back, and she shivered. Selene intertwined her fingers over her stomach to stop them from twitching as Robb pushed her hair forward, out of his way. His fingers were used to handling swords, not dresses, so it was slow going, but Selene loved that he was trying.

When Robb had untied the dress, he pushed it lightly out of the way, and it fell to the floor. Underneath, Selene was only wearing a thin shift, which she now noticed was nearly see through. She thought Robb would turn her around, but instead, he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed the side of her neck.

Selene's eyes fluttered closed involuntarily. As Robb deepened the kiss, his grip around her tightened. She turned her face to the side and kissed him. Robb pushed against her, the two of the leaning to the side as he slid his tongue in her mouth.

At that, Selene gasped and pulled away.

"Have I done something wrong?" Robb asked worriedly. His eyes fell to her thin shift and stayed there.

Selene covered her chest with her arms. "No," she said quickly. The ache in her core unsettled her.

Robb's brows were drawn together. He took a step forward and reached for her hand. "We don't have to do anything tonight, if you don't want to."

"Do you not want me?" Selene was almost hurt.

Robb gave a sharp laugh _._ He composed himself rather quickly and blushed under her hard look.

"I'm sorry," he said with a cough, "but that question was ridiculous." He sat on the bed and gestured for her to sit beside him. "Selene, I've never wanted anyone more than you."

She felt her blush bloom beneath her cheeks. It was difficult to meet Robb's gaze.

"What's wrong?"

"Have you ever," Selene struggled for a moment, "been with another?"

Robb looked away. "You want the truth?"

"Always."

"No, I haven't."

Selene gaped, "You're just as much a maiden as I am?"

Robb laughed, "Perhaps not _as_ much. I've kissed girls before. I've even been to a brothel. Nothing happened," he said quickly. "I couldn't do it."

Selene frowned, "Why not?"

He sighed, "There's been only one hindrance on my parent's happiness."

For a terrible moment, Selene thought Robb would say Jon.

But he didn't. "My father's infidelity." She could see the pain clear as day on Robb's face. He didn't wanted to remember Ned Stark as anything but honorable. "It was only once. One moment of weakness in fifteen years, but it's caused my mother nothing but heartache and my brother nothing but pain. I never wanted to do that to my wife, so I've never been with anyone." He gave a halfhearted smile, trying to lighten the mood, "Have you ever been with anyone?"

Selene took a moment too long to answer.

Robb's brows furrowed.

"I'm a maiden," Selene assured him. She didn't want to start her marriage with secrets. She wanted to be honest. "I've kissed another."

"Oh," Robb said softly. "May I ask who?"

Well, she didn't have to be _completely_ honest.

"Some envoy's page from across the Narrow Sea. In King's Landing," she said with a wave of her hand.

Robb stared at his feet, "Did you love him?"

"I did," Selene said softly. "We were young, and it was forbidden, but Robb…" she forced him to look at her, "I am yours and you are mine. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

"Do you think, with time, you will come to love me?" Robb looked so unsure of himself.

Selene nodded fervently, "I already have great affection for you. I'm just…not sure I can call it love."

Robb smiled, "That's more than most women can say on their wedding night."

Selene laughed, "Yes, I suppose it is."

The two looked at one another. Selene leaned forward and kissed him. Robb slid his hand around her neck, pulling her closer. His other hand went to her waist, until they were flush against each other.

Selene's panic began to rise again and she pulled away.

"Honestly," Robb said with sincerity, "we don't have to do anything tonight. I can wait until you want to."

"I _do_ want to." Selene wanted to do her duty. This was her wedding night. Robb was handsome, kind, and her husband. She wanted to be a good wife.

"It doesn't seem like it," Robb pointed out.

Selene gave a frustrated sigh, stood, and began to pace at the foot of the bed. "I've been a Baratheon my whole life, Robb, and now I'm not." She turned on her heel and walked back to where she started, "I've been a maiden my _entire_ life, and soon I won't be…" She turned to look at him as she paced. Although she saw sympathy in his eyes, she also saw how amused he was at her outburst.

"Do you know what I have been called?" Selene asked ardently.

"What?" Robb asked with a lazy smile.

"The Maiden herself," Selene stressed.

"The Maiden _herself_?" Robb repeated, sarcastically skeptical.

Selene nodded, "The Maiden _made flesh_. And in a moment, I-I..." It was hard to breathe.

"Selene, Selene, Selene," Robb stood to meet her mid-pace and took both her hands in his own. "Look at me," he said sweetly.

Selene did. In his eyes, all she saw was adoration and kindness.

Robb frowned when he felt her hands shaking.

"I feel so lost," Selene whispered. "I've thought about this day for years. Nothing was how I imagined. I miss Myrcella and Tommen. I miss my uncle Tyrion's jokes. And my father..." tears filled her eyes, "he wasn't here to give me away. The war has hung over this entire day. I didn't even _dance_ at my own wedding. I don't know who I am anymore, who I will be after tonight."

"Dance with me now," Robb said softly, wiping a tear that had slid down her cheek.

"There's no music," Selene said feebly.

Wordlessly, Robb slid one hand around her waist, and held her right hand aloft with the other. Together they swayed back and forth, her face buried in his shoulder.

"I'm sorry this day wasn't what you wanted. I cannot bring your siblings here or wake our fathers from their graves, but you are not changing," Robb said firmly in her hair. "You are still Selene, Queen in the North, of the Trident, rightful heir to the Iron Throne."

_Titles titles titles,_ Selene shook her curls, but Robb continued, "But more than that." He held her closer, and repeated himself slowly, "More than that."

Robb tilted her chin so she had no choice but to look on his face. "When we are alone, we can forget the titles. You are just a girl, and I am just a boy. We can just be Robb and Selene. We can be young and impulsive and reckless. We have our whole lives to be together. I…I love you," Robb's eyes were crystalline, "and I know you don't love me back. How could you? We still hardly know each other, but I love you. Ever since you first danced with me at Winterfell."

"Robb..." Selene didn't know what to say. She wanted to love him _now_. She wanted to tell him tonight, but the words would not come.

"It's alright," Robb mumbled with a smile. "It's alright."

War had tainted the joy of her wedding day. Selene would be damned if she let it ruin her wedding night.

She threw herself in her husband's arms. The kiss, unbearably fragile, a spike of sensation. Everything Selene thought about who she was, what she was, was irrelevant. There were no words, only sensation, smooth sensation. Robb was kissing her. She was kissing Robb. They stood in the middle of their chambers, giving and getting every kiss they've ever gotten or given. Kissing: fast, hard, deep, frantic, long, and low. They tasted the lips, the mouth, the tongue. Robb put his hands on her face and felt her soft skin.

Just a boy. Just a girl.

Robb broke the kiss for a moment, his disheveled hair making her smile, "Are you sure?" he asked one last time.

Selene nodded and kissed him again.

Robb was at her breast. A noise escaped her, an embarrassingly deep sigh, like air rushing out of something.

He kissed her belly. Selene reached for him. There was an incredible strangeness when they touched. Selene couldn't tell who is who, what was what. Phenomenal confusion.

Robb touched Selene's breast, pressing. Her legs buckled, but before she could collapse, Robb carried her to the bed.

Selene tugged at Robb's thin undershirt, revealing his chest. She noticed a few scars in the candlelight. She ran her fingers gently over them until Robb sighed. "My husband, the warrior," she said with a dazed smile.

Robb's eyes trailed over her body in worship. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

Selene slid her hand behind his neck and brought his face crashing to hers. His hand trailed over the scar on her shoulder and she inhaled sharply.

He stared at the scar. "You risked your life for him. You fought for my family."

" _My_ family now," Selene stressed.

Robb kissed her shoulder. He trailed kisses all over until she was flushed and breathless.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

Selene swallowed nervously, but nodded.

Robb's fingers curled between her legs.

Selene jolted in surprise. "What..." she gasped.

"This will make it hurt less, I promise," Robb explained under his breath. He didn't continue until Selene nodded. Robb was slow and careful. Selene bit her lip. It wasn't painful, necessarily, but it was uncomfortable. At first. With each stroke, it became easier and easier and Selene found herself relaxing. Her hips rose to meet him. Robb was at her neck, alternating between kisses and nibbles. She nipped at his shoulders, which he seemed to enjoy.

Finally, the moment came. Robb ran his fingers through her hair and looked at her affectionately.

Selene couldn't help giggling with nerves. He began to giggle as well. They were a king and a queen at war, but they were still so young.

She placed her fingers on his lips lightly, looking him in the eyes with a lingering smile, "Robb…I am yours."

His smile grew wide. "And I," he kissed the left corner of her lip, "am yours." He kissed the right corner of her lip.

Their foreheads met. Selene took a deep breath, trying to ready herself. She nodded. Robb was as careful as he could be. She squeezed his arms tightly, "Slower," she begged under her breath as the pain stabbed her. She turned her face to the side and Robb's face hovered above her cheek. The pain made her shudder, "Slower," she said again. "I'm sorry," she added with a sharp exhale.

"Sorry," he murmured above her.

"It's okay," she assured him as he went as deep as he was able.

Selene gave out a cry of pain and dug her fingernails into his back.

Robb waited.

The worst of it was over, she knew. Selene tried to get used to the feeling, but it was strange and foreign to her. She shifted her hips and watched with fascination as Robb let out a moan. She grinned.

Robb began to move his hips.

Selene's breathing was heavy as Robb kissed her again. There was nothing in the world but them and their sighs. It wasn't necessarily pain that she felt, nor was it pleasure. It was discomfort. For the first time in her life, there was something foreign in her body, and her mind didn't know how to react. Certain moments felt good, _really_ good, but for the most part it was strange.

With a shudder and a moan from Robb, suddenly her thighs felt slick and wet. He laid on top of her, panting.

While her heart beat wildly, she didn't seem to share his ecstasy.

Robb turned to lie down beside her. "How are you?"

Selene had heard that the first time was painful. She had also heard that due to stress and inexperience, it would take time before the woman enjoyed herself as much as the man. She looked over at him as he stroked her hair.

"Sore."

Arms around her, Robb kissed her temple. "Wife," he muttered with a smile as his eyes fluttered closed.

She looked up at his face. Sex was such an integral part of life, and yet she felt thwarted. Despite the dull ache in her core, she didn't feel any different. Robb was right. She was still the same girl she had always been. She glanced down at her belly and wondered how long it would be until she conceived. Until she bore her first child. _Their_ first child.

Selene placed a soft kiss on his chest. "Husband."

* * *

**Author's Note**

Hey everyone! Hope you liked this chapter. This is the first intimate chapter I've ever written and my goal was to write a realistic "losing virginity" scene.

Music: use YT links.

The wedding [scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CNz0ZqQrcME) in the godswood: (Until 1:39 ONLY) Second 1:04, when Robb places the crown on her head.

The [consummation.  
](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1adlEo05cMk)


	26. We Rule Together

As they waited in Riverrun's Great Hall for the prisoner to be brought before them, she saw Robb push back his crown so it rested upon the thick auburn mop of his hair; moments later, he moved it forward again; later he gave it a quarter turn, as if that might make it sit more easily on his brow. _It is no easy thing to wear a crown,_ Selene thought as she sat beside him. She had been wearing coronets her entire life, but her new one, her winter crown, sat heavier than her silver one ever had.

When the guards brought in the captive, Robb called for his sword. His squire offered it up hilt first, and he drew the blade and laid it bare across his knees, a threat plain for all to see. Selene did the same with Stormsbane. Women typically never laid swords bare on their knees, but she could see the looks of pride from the northern lords. Their queen had to be as hard as them.

"Your Graces, here is the man you asked for," announced Ser Robin Ryger, captain of the Tully household guard.

"Kneel before the king and queen, Lannister!" Theon Greyjoy shouted.

Ser Robin forced the prisoner to his knees.

Selene looked more Lannister than her distant cousin. Ser Cleos Frey was a son of Lady Genna, Lord Tywin's sister, but he had none of the Lannister beauty, the fair hair or the green eyes. Instead, he had inherited the stringy brown locks, weak chin, and thin face of his sire Ser Emmon Frey, old Lord Walder's second son. His eyes were pale and watery as he looked up at Robb and Selene.

"Rise, Ser Cleos," Robb's voice was icy, and he did not sound like a boy of fifteen. War had made a man of him before his time. Morning light glimmered faintly against the edge of the steel across his knees. Selene's own black blade glinted dangerously.

Yet it was not their swords that made Ser Cleos Frey anxious; it was their beasts. Grey Wind was as large as an elkhound, lean and smoke-dark, with eyes like molten gold. Eleni was larger, and her amber eyes gleamed as bright as her pale gold coat. When the beasts padded forward and sniffed at the captive knight, every man in the hall could smell the scent of fear. Ser Cleos had been taken during the battle in the Whispering Wood, where Grey Wind had ripped out the throats of at least half a dozen men.

The knight scrambled up, edging away with such speed that some of the watchers laughed aloud. "Thank you, my lord."

" _Your Grace,_ " barked Lord Umber, the Greatjon, ever the loudest of Robb's northern bannerman….and the truest and fiercest as well, or so he insisted. He had been the first to proclaim Robb King in the North, and the first to declare Selene queen. Umber would allow no slight to the honor of his new-made sovereigns.

"Your Grace," Ser Cleos corrected himself hastily. "Pardons."

_He is a coward, this one,_ Selene thought. More Frey than Lannister. Jaime would have been a much different matter. They would have never gotten that honor through her uncle's perfect teeth.

"We brought you from your cell to carry a message to Cersei Lannister in King's Landing," Selene said to the Frey. "You'll travel under a peace banner, with thirty of our best men to escort you."

Ser Cleos was visibly relieved. "Then I should be most glad to bring Your Grace's message to the queen, cousin."

Selene clenched her teeth at his familiarity.

"Understand," Robb said, "that we are not giving you your freedom. Your grandfather Lord Walder pledged his support and that of House Frey." Robb failed to mention that the Freys had abandoned their host the moment Selene was chosen over one of their girls. "Many of your cousins and uncles rode with us in the Whispering Wood, but _you_ chose to fight beneath the lion banner. That makes you a Lannister, not a Frey. I want your pledge, on your honor as a knight, that after you deliver the message you'll return with the queen's reply, and resume your captivity."

Ser Cleos answered at once, "I do so vow."

"Every man in this hall has heard you," warned Ser Edmure Tully, who spoke for Riverrun and the lords of the Trident in the place of Hoster. "If you do not return, the whole realm will know you forsworn."

"I will do as I pledged," Ser Cleos replied stiffly. "What is the message?"

"An offer of peace," Robb stood, longsword in hand. Grey Wind moved to his side. The hall grew hushed. "Tell the Queen Regent that if she meets my terms, I will sheath the sword, and make an end to the war between us."

In the back of the hall, Selene glimpsed the tall, gaunt figure of Lord Rickard Karstark shove through a rank of guards and out the door. No one else moved. Robb paid the disruption no mind. His squire handed him a rolled parchment.

Robb unrolled it, "First, the queen must release my sisters and provide them with transport by sea from King's Landing to White Harbor. It is to be understood that Sansa's betrothal to Joffrey Baratheon is at an end. When I receive word from my castellan that my sisters have returned unharmed to Winterfell, I will release the queen's cousins, the squire Willem Lannister and your brother Tion Frey, and give them safe escort to Casterly Rock or wheresoever she desires them delivered."

"Secondly," Selene started, having no need of the parchment to remember what was written, "Lord Eddard Stark's bones will be returned north, so he may rest beside his brother and sister in the crypts beneath Winterfell, as he would have wished. The remains of the men of his household guard who died in his service at King's Landing must also be returned."

"Third, my father's greatsword Ice will be delivered to my hand, here at Riverrun." Robb said. "Fourth, the Queen Regent will command her father Lord Tywin to release those knights and lords bannermen of ours that he took captive in the battle on the Green Fork of the Trident. Once he does so, I shall release my own captives taken in the Whispering Wood and the Battle of the Camps, save Jaime Lannister alone, who will remain our hostage for his father's good behavior."

"Lastly," Selene stood beside Robb, Eleni at her side, "for her crimes, Cersei Lannister must leave Westeros and go into exile, taking her bastards with her. Tywin Lannister will be allowed to return to Casterly Rock once he swears fealty to me and my husband."

" _THE QUEEN IN THE NORTH!"_ boomed Greatjon Umber, a ham-sized fist hammering at the air as he shouted. " _Stark! Stark! The King in the North!_ "

Robb rolled up the parchment again. "Lord Tywin must withdraw to Casterly Rock and cease his raiding, burning, and pillaging of the riverlands. Cersei Lannister and her children shall depart from King's Landing to Essos at once. Additionally, the Lannisters shall deliver ten highborn hostages, to be mutually agreed upon, as a pledge of peace. These I will treat as honored guests, according to their station. So long as the terms of this pact are abided with faithfully, I shall release two hostages every year, and return them safely to their families." Robb tossed the rolled parchment at the knight's feet. "There are the terms. If she meets them, we'll give her peace. If not..." he whistled, and Grey Wind moved forward snarling, "I'll give her another Whispering Wood."

" _Stark!_ " the Greatjon roared again, and now other voices took up the cry. " _Stark, Stark, King in the North!"_

The direwolf threw back his head and howled. The lioness lifted her chin and roared.

Ser Cleos had gone the color of curdled milk. "The queen shall hear your message, my – Your Grace."

"Good," Robb said. "Ser Robin, see that he has a good meal and clean clothing. He's to ride at first light."

"As you command, Your Grace," Ser Robin Ryger replied.

"Then we are done." The assemble knights and lords bannermen bent their knees as Robb and Selene turned to leave, Grey Wind and Eleni at their heels. Robb's squire scrambled ahead to open the door. Lady Catelyn followed them out, her brother at her side.

"You did well," Catelyn told Robb in the gallery that led from the rear of the hall, "though that business with the beasts was japery more befitting children than royalty."

Robb scratched Grey Wind behind the ear, while Eleni nuzzled Selene's hand. "Did you see the look on his face, Mother?" he asked, smiling.

"What I saw was Lord Karstark, walking out."

"As did I." Robb lifted off his crown with both hands. Selene did the same and handed them to his squire, a small boy from a lesser northern house. "Take these things back to our bedchambers," Robb ordered.

"At once, Your Grace." The squire hurried off.

"I'll wager there were others who felt the same as Lord Karstark," Lord Edmure declared. "How can we talk of peace while the Lannisters spread like a pestilence over my father's domains, stealing his crops and slaughtering his people? I say again, we ought to be marching on Harrenhal."

"We lack the strength," Selene reminded him. _For now_.

Edmure persisted, "Do we grow stronger sitting here? Our host dwindles every day."

"And whose doing is that?" Catelyn snapped at her brother. It had been Edmure's insistence that Robb give the river lords leave to depart after the wedding, each to defend his own lands. Ser Marq Piper and Lord Karyl Vance had been the first to go. Lord Jonos Bracken had followed, vowing to reclaim the burnt shell of his castle and bury his dead.

"You cannot ask my river lords to remain idle when their fields are being pillaged and their people put to the sword," Ser Edmure said, "but Lord Karstark is a northman. It would be an ill thing if he were to leave us."

"I'll speak with him," said Robb. "He lost two sons in the Whispering Wood. Who can blame him if he does not want to make peace with their killers…with my father's killers…"

"More bloodshed will not bring your father back to us, or Lord Rickard's sons," Catelyn said. "An offer had to be made, though wiser rulers might have offered sweeter terms."

"Any sweeter and I would have gagged," Selene said.

Robb nodded beside her.

"Cersei Lannister will _never_ consent to trade your sisters for a pair of cousins. It's her brother she'll want, as you both know full well." Catelyn had told them as much before, but Selene could see Catelyn struggling with the fact that kings do not listen half so attentively as sons.

"I can't release the Kingslayer, not even if I wanted to," Robb said. "My lords will never abide by it."

"If your crown is the price we must pay to have Arya and Sansa returned safe, we should pay it willingly. Half your lords would like to murder Lannister in his cell. If he should die while he's your prisoner, men will say-"

"-that he well deserved it," Robb finished.

"And your sisters?" Catelyn asked sharply. "Will they deserve their deaths as well? I promise you, if any harm comes to her brother, Cersei will pay it back blood for blood-"

"Jaime won't die," Selene assured her. "No one so much as speaks to him without Robb's warrant. He has food, water, clean straw, more comfort than he has any right to."

"I won't free him," Robb insisted, "not even for Arya and Sansa."

Catelyn's face reddened with anger, "Are you afraid to have Jaime Lannister in the field again, is that the truth of it?"

Grey Wind growled, as if he sensed Robb's temper, and Edmure put a brotherly hand on Catelyn's shoulder, "Cat, don't. The boy has the right of this."

"Don't call me _the boy_ ," Robb said, rounding on his uncle, his anger spilling out all at once on poor Edmure, who had only meant to support him. "I'm almost a man grown, and a king – _your_ king, ser. And I don't fear Jaime Lannister. I defeated him once, I'll defeat him again if I must, only…" he pushed hair out of his eyes and shook his head. "I might have been able to trade the Kingslayer for Father, but…"

"…but not for the girls?" Catelyn's voice was pure ice. "Girls are not important enough, are they?"

Robb glanced at Selene, but made no answer. There was hurt in his eyes. Selene saw that Catelyn regretted what she said as soon as she said it.

"I'll do all I can for my sisters," Robb said. "If Cersei has any sense, she'll accept my terms. If not, I'll make her rue the day she refused me." Plainly, he'd had enough of the subject. "Mother, are you certain you will not consent to go back to Winterfell? You would be farther from the fighting and you could be with Bran and Rickon. They need you."

_He wants her gone,_ Selene thought. _Kings are not supposed to have mothers, it would seem, and she tells him things he does not want to hear._ "My lord father has little enough time remaining to him. So long as your grandfather lives, my place is at Riverrun with him."

"I could command you to go. As king, I could. You could go with Theon to Seaguard, and when he boards a ship for the Iron Islands, you could board one heading north."

Catelyn ignored his threat, "I'll say it again, I would rather you send someone else to Pyke, and kept Theon close to you."

Selene had said as much to Robb earlier once he had divulged his plan. Theon was to head to the Iron Islands to enlist Balon Greyjoy's navy to help attack the westerlands by sea. Selene had reminded Robb that Balon lost two sons in his last rebellion, and both their fathers had led the winning side, but Robb trusted Theon and considered him a brother. He did not want to listen to her counsel, and it appeared he did not want to listen to Catelyn's either.

"Who better to treat with Balon Greyjoy than his son?" Robb asked simply.

"Jason Mallister," offered Catelyn. "Tytos Blackwood. Anyone…but not Theon."

Robb squatted beside Grey Wind, ruffling the wolf's fur and incidentally avoiding his mother's eyes. "Theon's fought bravely for us. I told you how he saved Bran from those wildlings in the wolfswood. If the Lannisters won't make peace, I'll have need of Lord Greyjoy's longships."

"You'll have them sooner if you keep his son a hostage," Catelyn said.

"He's been a hostage half his life."

"For good reason," Selene said, remembering all the stories her father told her of Greyjoy's rebellion. "Balon Greyjoy is not a man to be trusted, Robb. He wore a crown himself, remember, if only for a season. He may aspire to wear one again."

Robb stood, "I will not grudge him that. If I'm King in the North, let him be King of the Iron Islands, if that's his desire. I'll give him a crown gladly, so long as he helps us bring down the Lannisters."

"The men of the Iron Islands don't accept _gifts_ -" Selene started.

"I'm sending Theon. Good day, wife, mother. Grey Wind, come." Robb walked off briskly, the direwolf padding beside him.

Selene could only watch him go. Her husband and her king. How strange that felt. His dismissal tasted sour.

"I'm going to visit Father," Catelyn announced abruptly. "Come with me, Edmure."

"I need to have a word with those new bowmen Ser Desmond is training. I'll visit him later."

"If he still lives," Catelyn mumbled to herself as Edmure walked away. "Would you join me, Your Grace?"

Selene was taken aback. "I would be honored, my lady."

"My brother would sooner face battle than the sickroom," Lady Catelyn said as she led Selene to the central keep.

Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun, lay abed in his solar, with its commanding view to the east where the rivers Tumblestone and Red Fork met beyond the walls of his castle. He was sleeping when they walked in, his hair and beard as white as his featherbed, his frame small and frail by the death that grew within him.

Beside Lord Hoster's bed, dressed in mail and a travel-stained cloak, sat his brother the Blackfish. The skin beneath his eyes was heavy and purple.

"News from the battlefield?" Selene asked.

"Aye, Your Grace," Brynden Tully said. "I need to speak with the king."

Selene crossed her arms, "And what of the queen?"

The Blackfish looked taken aback, "Your Grace-"

"I am not my husband's consort," Selene interrupted. "We rule together. I need to hear this news as much as him."

The Blackfish nodded, "Apologies, Your Grace. The riverlands are awash in blood and flame. The fighting has spread south to the Blackwater and north across the Trident, almost to the Twins. Marq Piper and Karyl Vance have won some small victories, and this southern lordling Beric Dondarrion has been raiding the raiders, falling upon Lord Tywin's foraging parties and vanishing back into the woods."

Even though it felt like a thousand years had passed since then, Selene remembered that day in the Great Hall when Ned Stark sat the Iron Throne and commanded Lord Beric, a young knight with red-gold har, to bring the King's Justice to Gregor Clegane. Her father had still been alive then.

"Some of Ned's guards from King's Landing are with this Lord Beric," Catelyn said. "May the gods preserve them."

"Dondarrion and this red priest who rides with him are clever enough to preserve themselves, if the tales be true," the Blackfish said, "but the river lords make for a sadder tale. Robb should never have let them go. They've scattered like quail, each man trying to protect his own, and its folly. Jonos Bracken was wounded in the fighting amidst the ruins of his castle, and his nephew Hendry slain. Tytos Blackwood swept the Lannisters off of his land, but they took every cow and pig and speck of grain and left him nothing to defend but Raventree Hall and a scorched desert. Darry men recaptured their lord's keep but held it less than a fortnight before Gregor Clegane descended on them and put the whole garrison to the sword, even their lord."

Selene was horrorstruck. "Darry was only a child."

"Aye, and the last of his line as well. The boy would have brought a fine ransom, but what does gold mean to a frothing dog like Gregor Clegane? That beast's head would make a noble gift for all the people of the realm."

Catelyn's face was pale. "Don't speak to me of heads, Uncle. Cersei has mounted Ned's on a spike above the walls of the Red Keep, and left it for the crows and flies."

Selene spoke up, "Clegane is no more than Lord Tywin's mad dog." It was her grandfather Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, who was the one giving her sleepless nights.

"True enough," Ser Brynden admitted, "and Tywin Lannister is no man's fool. He sits safe behind the walls of Harrenhal, feeding his host on our harvest and burning what he does not take. Gregor is not the only dog he's loosed. Ser Amory Lorch is in the field as well, and some sellsword out of Qohor who'd sooner maim a man than kill him. I've seen what they leave behind them. Whole villages put to the torch, women raped and mutilated, butchered children left unburied to draw wolves...it would sicken even the dead."

"When Edmure hears about this, he will rage," Catelyn said gravely.

"And that will be just as Lord Tywin desires," Selene said. "Even terror has its purpose. My grandfather wants to provoke us into battle."

"Robb is like to give him that wish," Catelyn said, fretful. "He is restless sitting here, and Edmure and the Greatjon and the others will urge him on."

Selene knew Catelyn had the right of it. Her husband had won two great victories before she married him, smashing Jaime Lannister in the Whispering Wood and overwhelming his leaderless host outside the walls of Riverrun in the Battle of the Camps, but from the way some of his bannermen spoke of him, he might have been Aegon the Conqueror reborn.

"And I have not said the worst of it," the Blackfish said. "The men I sent west have brought back word that a new host is gathering at Casterly Rock."

_Another Lannister army,_ Selene thought with a shiver. "Who will command it?"

"Ser Stafford Lannister, it's said," he turned to gaze out over the rivers, his red and blue cloak stirring in the breeze.

"Another nephew?" Catelyn asked disbelievingly.

The realm could say what they wished about the Lannisters, but there was no denying her mother's house was damnably large and fertile.

"Cousin," Selene corrected. "Brother to my late grandmother Joanna. An old man and a bit slow, but his son Ser Daven is more formidable."

"Then let us hope it is the father and not the son who takes this army into the field," Catelyn said.

The Blackfish looked from his niece to his queen, "What do you think we should do, Your Grace?"

Selene furrowed her brows, trying all at once to remember everything she had ever read about strategy from the Red Keep's library. "We should never give the enemy what they wish. Lord Tywin wants us to march on Harrenhal, so we shouldn't."

Ser Brynden nodded, "And…"

Selene took a deep breath, "This new army is most likely made of green boys and sellswords from the stews of Lannisport… They must be trained. We should stop them from completing their training before they become a larger problem."

Ser Brynden wore a ghost of a smile, "Good, but what of Tywin?"

"He won't stir from Harrenhal unless he must, to face a greater threat." Once the idea struck, the words came pouring out. "This war means _nothing_ if Cersei and Joffrey fall." A smile spread over Selene's face. "Lord Tywin would have no choice but to take the field if say, perhaps, a great southern host besieged King's Landing?"

Catelyn's eyes widened, and Ser Brynden smiled wide, "Ah, yes. But where to find one?"

###

Robb stormed into their chambers.

"Have you heard the news?"

"I have," Selene answered simply, looking up from the letter she was writing to her Uncle Renly.

"Well? What do you think?"

"You wish to hear my counsel?" Selene asked quietly.

"Always," Robb said, as if it was obvious.

"Not earlier," Selene reminded him. "Not about Theon."

Robb sighed, running his fingers through his hair, "I'm sorry, Selene."

"You didn't care about my advice. I thought we would rule together. As equals."

He knelt beside her seat, looking up at her.

"I know, I know," Robb said, "but which king and queen agreed with each other on _every_ matter? After we listen to each other's counsel and can't find common ground, what do we do?"

"I don't know."

"One asks the other for trust," Robb answered. "I'm asking you to trust my judgement. To trust me. Even if you don't agree with me fully. There will come a time when I will need to trust you."

"And why isn't that time now?" Selene challenged. "Why, now, must I be the one to yield?"

"Because I know Theon better," Robb said. "He is like a brother to me. If you don't trust him because of his father's rebellion, I can't fault you for that, but trust _me_."

Selene knew he was right.

They were disturbed by a knock.

Robb's squire came in holding a stack of letters.

"Forgive me, Your Graces, for my interruption, but the maester keeps receiving strange letters and has asked me to bring them to you."

Robb frowned, but Selene bolted from her chair, startling the young squire.

"Let me see," Selene said hurriedly. Shaking, the squire held out the letters. They were addressed to the Maiden and signed by the Smith. A grin broke on Selene's face. "Thank you. Please send all letters of this kind to me in the future."

The squire nodded and left.

Selene ran back to the desk and placed the letters on the table.

Robb looked over her shoulder and frowned, "To the Maiden?"

"That's me," Selene said without thinking as she grabbed a copy of the Seven Pointed Star, the holy text of the Faith, and the most common book in the Seven Kingdoms.

She could feel Robb's proud grin, "You are no maid." He kissed her temple.

Selene couldn't stop her blush. The past few nights, they had been practicing beneath the sheets, and more often than not, her cries were not of pain, but of pleasure. "Perhaps not," she admitted.

The letters were all the same jumble of numbers. Tyrion must have sent several duplicates, hoping that one would make it to her. Selene quickly got to work matching the first column of numbers with pages, the second column of numbers with lines, and the third column with words.

Robb was quiet as Selene decoded Tyrion's message.

_I am Hand. Your mother has sent Gold Cloaks after your half-siblings. I am beginning to serve justice, starting with Lord Spear, who will soon be keeping the Bear company. I hear you've caught yourself a wolf. Mother is furious. King has named you traitor, but it's my father you should truly fear, my sweet. I will keep the she-wolf safe. I await your word. Long live the queen._

Selene smiled as she read and re-read her uncle's letter. So Tyrion ruled in King's Landing as Hand. Cersei was sending the Gold Cloaks after Robert's bastards. The "Lord Spear" part took a moment, but Selene realized Tyrion had meant Janos Slynt, the Lord Commander of the City Watch who had betrayed Ned Stark. Tyrion had sent him to the Wall. Joffrey has named her a traitor, which was hardly a surprise, and her uncle would do all he could for Sansa Stark.

Robb's frown deepened. "Caught yourself a wolf?" he read. "What is this?"

Selene stood and held his hand. "Robb, you need to swear to me that you won't tell this to anyone. Not even your mother."

"I promise."

Selene shook her head, "Swear it."

"I swear it, by the old gods," Robb assured her. "Who is the Smith?"

Selene smiled, "My dear Uncle Tyrion."

"The one my mother captured?"

"The very same. He plays a dutiful Lannister, but I promise you he is my man through and through. And he is Hand of the King. He can help us."

"Are you sure we can trust him?"

"I'm asking you to trust my judgement," Selene said, repeating to Robb the words he had told her only moments ago. "If you can't trust him because of his family, I can't fault you for that, but trust _me_."

Robb held up his hands in submission, a knowing smile on his face, "Alright, alright. I yield."

"So soon?" Selene asked with a smirk, pushing Robb down on the bed and climbing on top of him.

###

After Ser Brynden told the high lords around the war table the plan, they all seemed to agree. As Tywin sat in Harrenhal, Robb's host would go west, smashing Ser Stafford's fledgling army before it could form, and conquering the westerlands. Selene would write to Renly and Stannis and ask them to besiege King's Landing.

Renly wrote that Stannis had taken his ships from Dragonstone to Storm's End and was being denied entry into the castle by Renly's castellan, Ser Courtnay Penrose. Tensions were running high in the stormlands, and Selene needed to go see her uncles.

But there was something she had to do first.

"I'll go treat with my uncles personally," Selene told the war council, " _after_ I fight one battle beside you."

Robb was speechless.

Selene continued, "One battle, and then I will travel south to the stormlands and my uncles."

It was Lord Bolton who spoke, "My queen, there is no need to endanger yourself."

Ser Brynden nodded, "You are the queen, not a soldier. We need you alive."

Selene turned to the Blackfish, "Will King Robb be leading the host? Is it not also important to keep him alive?"

No one argued with her.

She turned to the Greatjon, "Lord Umber, what did I swear to do when you proclaimed me Queen in the North?"

Lord Umber held her gaze, a small smile on his face, "To bleed beside us on the battlefield, Your Grace."

Selene nodded once. "What kind of queen would I be if I did not keep that vow? If, at the first chance of battle, I fled south? Right now, my claim to the Iron Throne rests solely on my birth. My northern crown rests solely on my marriage. Let me prove myself now with deeds, so no man can deny me. Let me prove to the realm, to the armies of the north and south, that I deserve the crowns they have given me."

"The Queen in the North," Lady Mormont said softly in admiration. A few other lords echoed her sentiment.

All eyes turned to Robb, wondering if he would agree to have his wife ride into battle beside him.

Robb searched Selene's face. She met his eyes with steel.

"I see no point refusing you," Robb said finally, amusement in his eyes. "You would only defy me."

Selene beamed at her husband and glanced around the room, "It seems marriage has made a wise man out of the Young Wolf."


	27. The Battle of Oxcross

Selene Baratheon had never felt fully comfortable in armor.

Ser Barristan used to make her practice in armor sometimes, to make her strong, but she had always felt more comfortable in boiled leathers and light mail. But Selene could hardly go to war in just leathers, and so she wore armor that had originally been made for Lord Edmure in his younger years. Riverrun's smith had tailored it to her shape, but she felt strange in such plain steel. Had she fought alongside her Uncle Renly, she was sure she would wear a cloak of heavy ermine. Had she fought alongside her Grandfather Lannister, she was sure she would be fitted in gilded steel so polished the enemy would be blinded.

But she was not amongst those who valued pretension. Her only ornament was her shield, which matched Robb's, a grey direwolf on a field of white addorsed with a black stag on a field of gold. Black and white, gold and silver. And her helm, which she had in her saddlebag. It would be heavy on her head, due in part to the antlers protruding at the sides. She had asked Riverrun's smith to forge a helm like the one her father had worn during his rebellion. Lucky for her, the smith had seen Robert's helm firsthand, and so she felt closer to her father's shade and prayed to the Warrior for his strength.

Selene rode at Robb's side as their host travelled west. Ser Brynden Tully, Ser Barristan, Galbart Glover, Rickard Karstark, Maege Mormont, Roose Bolton, and the Greatjon rode behind them. Their host was six thousand strong.

Robb kept glancing at her, "Are you certain about this?"

"I would love to meet a person who went to war certain of anything."

Robb laughed, "Your wit is a strong shield, my lady, but I would know the truth."

"The truth?" _I could die. I could die today or tomorrow. I could watch you die. Everything I've been fighting for, everything I've built….I could watch it all burn_. "I am afraid."

Robb nodded, "Of course you're afraid, Selene. You would be a fool if you weren't. I was afraid before the Battle of the Whispering Wood. Before the Battle of the Camps. As afraid then as I am now. In truth, I'm more afraid now than I've ever been."

Selene frowned, "Why?"

"Because of you," Robb said without hesitation. "Before, I didn't fear death. If I fall, they will write songs for me. There are worse ways to die than valiantly in battle, avenging my beloved father."

"And now?"

"What is a song compared to being safe and warm in your arms? What is a valiant death to holding our firstborn child in my arms one day? I'm more afraid now because I have the world to lose."

Selene was speechless. Before she could respond, Eleni and Grey Wind came loping toward them. Thunder and Robb's horse were more than accustomed to the presence of the lioness and the direwolf, but Selene could hear the nervous whinnies of the horses behind them.

Robb's brows furrowed when he saw Grey Wind. The wolf was behaving strangely, pawing at the ground.

"Robb?"

He looked off into the distance, where the wolf's nose pointed. The lords caught up to their king and queen.

"We go that way," Robb said without a doubt.

Lord Bolton, however, did have a doubt. "My king, there's no way through in that direction. The only way forward is through the Golden Tooth."

"Lord Bolton is right," Ser Brynden said. "I've spent my whole life riding through these lands. There's no other way to bring our host west."

Robb looked at their men. "I thank you for your counsel, my lords. However, I need to trust my instincts."

"Grey Wind's instincts, you mean?" Selene asked.

Robb shrugged, as if the two were one in the same.

"That is no ordinary beast," the Greatjon said. "I would follow that wolf into hell."

"We just might, my lord," Lord Bolton said coolly.

"My queen?" Robb asked.

Selene felt pride rise in her chest. Ever since she had challenged his decision about Theon back in Riverrun, Robb had made a point to include her in every decision. She eyed Grey Wind, who was still staring off into the hills as still as stone. She then glanced at Eleni and thought of the strange bond she shared with the lioness. Selene wasn't sure if she could ever explain it, not unlike how Robb was unable to explain to his lords why they must take a small path that seemed to lead to nowhere.

"I trust your judgement," Selene said loudly. "Yours and Grey Wind's," she added with a smile.

"Then it's decided," Robb ended the discussion.

The narrow path wound around the mountains. It was only wide enough for two horses to ride abreast. There were points where the horses were so close together, Selene could have held Robb's hand as they rode. Strangely, the path led them safely though the pass, and they finally crossed the mountain range. The earth spilled out before them in lazy hills.

Selene glanced around at the mountains, "This range is familiar… We should be approaching a small village soon."

"Which one?" Robb asked.

Selene struggled to remember. There were so many lords and castles and banners she had to learn as a child, that small lordless villages seemed less important somehow. Something about oxen...

Robb's sentries were riding back. One was Dacey Mormont. The tall young woman's eyes were excited as she approached.

"Your Graces," Dacey said breathlessly. "Ser Stafford's host is only a few hours ahead. Lannister hasn't even bothered to set a patrol!"

Robb looked at Selene disbelievingly, "Could he be that dimwitted?"

Selene heard the question Robb wasn't asking. _Is this a trap?_

She didn't know her grandmother's brother well, except that he was not as clever as Tywin by half. And yet...

"Not exactly dimwitted," Selene said. "Probably too comfortable. Every westerman knows the Golden Tooth is the only way in and out of the riverlands. He thinks he will have warning when we cross the Tooth."

"We have a golden opportunity, pardon my expression," Ser Brynden said.

"What do you suggest, Uncle?" Robb asked.

Selene felt herself grow excited. Ser Bryden was a fabled knight and had fought over a hundred battles.

Ser Brynden looked up at the moon, which began to rise slowly over the hills.

###

Selene leaned forward on Thunder expectantly, every muscle in her body so tense they could snap.

She heard the stampeding of hooves and screams of men as the horses that had been cut free by a few of their men began to trample over Lannister tents. Grey Wind and Eleni ran amongst the host, their scents terrifying the horses.

As expected, the horses were driven mad by the threat of a wolf and a lion. While chaos reigned, they sent the cavalry.

Robb and Selene led the charge.

" _WINTERFELL!"_ Robb screamed.

" _KING'S LANDING!_ " Selene shouted beside him.

Behind them were more roars.

" _STARK! KING IN THE NORTH! WINTERFELL! QUEEN IN THE NORTH!"_

Selene spurred Thunder forward to a gallop as men fled before her. She tried not to think of them as men as she hacked with her sword. Her first kill back in King's Landing had made her apprehensive, but it was much easier now from above on a horse and in the black of night.

The ground was sodden and slippery, equal part mud and blood. Thunder rode over corpses, and Selene heard the sickening crunching of bones under hoof. She smashed a man in the face with all the weight of her sword and arm and charging horse, taking off half of his head. Selene felt mist spray through the slit in her helm and thanked the gods for the darkness.

Dimly, Selene heard screams behind her. And then the screams were coming from all directions. _One man at a time._

Selene rode down an archer before he could draw his bow, opened a spearman from shoulder to armpit, and glanced a blow off a lion helm. Her sword sheared off limbs, cracked heads, and broke shields apart.

Their foes were fleeing. Selene moved her head left and right, and saw no signs of Robb. An arrow clattered against her cheek, missing her eye slit by an inch. Her jolt of fear almost unhorsed her. _If I sit here like a stump, I might as well paint a target on my breastplate._

She spurred Thunder back into motion, trotting over and around a scatter of horses. Around her, the field was aflame with burning tents. Through the steel and padding of her helm, she heard anguished screams, the hungry crackle of flame, the shuddering of war horns, and the brazen blasts of trumpets. Fire was everywhere.

Selene heard one scream pierce the air so close, for a moment she thought it was her.

But it wasn't. She jerked Thunder around in time to see Eleni tear the face of a man who had been sneaking up behind her.

"Good girl."

Eleni's eyes glowed in the darkness.

Men were crawling all around her, men burned and bleeding, staggering and injured, mostly dying. Selene glanced around. Ser Barristan was fighting nearby, Lord Bolton as well with some of his men, and Dacey Mormont with a few of hers.

"TO ME!" Selene boomed, and together, she led their little troop amongst the enemy, delivering quick clean deaths to those strong enough to stand. The war shrank to the size of her eye slit. Men twice her size fled from her, or stood and died. They seemed like little things, and fearful. " _Stark!_ " she shouted, slaying. Her arm was red to the elbow, glistening in the light of the flames. When Thunder reared, she shook her sword at the stars and heard her men call out " _Winter's Fury! Winter's Fury!_ " and Selene felt drunk.

_The battle fever._ She had never thought to experience it this drastically. She was used to the frantic heartbeats and the song of swords and the feel of fighting. But this was more... _intense._ Time seemed to blur and slow and even stop. The past and the future vanished until there was nothing but this instant, how fear fled, and thought fled. She remembered how Jaime tried to describe it to her once when she was younger, "You don't feel your wounds, or the ache in your back from the weight of the armor, or the sweat running down into your eyes. You stop feeling, you stop thinking, and you stop being _you,_ there is only the fight, the foe, this man and then the next and the next and the next, and you know they are afraid and tired but you're not, you're alive, and death is all around you but their swords move so slowly, you can dance through them laughing." _Battle fever. I am a queen and a warrior and drunk with slaughter, let them kill me if they can!_

They tried. Another spearman ran at her. Selene lopped off the head of his spear, then his hand, then his arm, trotting around him in a circle. An archer, bowless, thrust at her with an arrow, holding it as if it were a knife. Thunder kicked at the man's chest and sent him sprawling and Selene barked with laughter. She rode past a banner planted in the mud, one of the Lannister's crimson ones, and chopped the staff in two with a swing of her sword. A man rose up from nowhere to hack at her shield with a two-handed greatsword, again and again, until someone thrust a dagger under his arm. One of Bolton's men, perhaps. She never saw.

"I yield, miss," a young boy called out, farther down the field. "Yield. Miss knight, I yield to you. My pledge, here, here." The boy lay in a puddle of black water, offering up a gauntlet in a token of submission. Selene had to lean down to take it from him. As she did, a man holding a torch ran past. In the sudden stab of light she saw that the puddle was not black but red. The gauntlet still had the boy's hand in it. Selene flung it back in horror. "Yield," the boy sobbed hopelessly, helplessly. Selene reeled away.

A man on a horse thrust at her face with a dagger. She pushed the blade aside with a metal arm and buried her sword in the nape of his neck. As she was trying to free it, Dacey Mormont came beside her.

"My queen, look."

Selene swung Thunder about to peer down the field. A group of men were trying to form a wedge against them. While their comrades ran or died, they seemed to be drawing courage from somewhere. _Courage, or stupidity?_

"Those are brave men," Selene said to Dacey in admiration. "Let's go kill them."

Selene killed more men then she could count. She wasn't a person anymore, but sword. A storm. Hacking and sawing and swinging until she didn't feel horror anymore.

After what felt like an eternity and also a few moments, the sun began to rise and shine a light over the battlefield. Finally, when a hush settled over the land, she removed her helm.

Selene dimly heard the wailing before she saw all the blood. Smoke roiled over the field and embers burned red as her lords bannerman dismounted their horses. She could feel the dirt and blood on her armor and face. Selene's eyes were on the field, open but unseeing.

"My queen?" Lord Bolton asked.

Selene vaguely wondered how she looked, staring hard from atop her horse at the dead. She hoped she looked like a brave queen and not a frightened girl.

"My men are setting up a command tent," Bolton continued. "I have reports of the battle that I can give as we walk there."

"Robb," Selene said hoarsely. "Where's Robb?"

The Lord of the Dreadfort was silent.

Selene turned slowly to face him. " _Where's Robb?_ "

"The king was last seen chasing Ser Stafford with Lords Karstark and Umber. I'm certain he is making his way back to the field as we speak."

Selene nodded. Umber and Karstark would keep him safe.

Selene dismounted. During the fighting, her armor had been as light as air, but now it felt like it was made of lead. Her right arm ached, her thighs burned from the riding, and her mind was exhausted from being alert for so long. But she forced her spine to straighten and her head to rise as she walked beside Lord Bolton on the field, Ser Barristan close behind her like a protective shadow in a white cloak.

The smell was almost unbearable. Bowels and blood and brains stained the dead grass. If it wasn't for the smoke to help cover the odor, Selene would have retched. Silent sisters had already begun their work, attending the wounded and dead while Stark soldiers checked Lannister bodies for weapons or supplies. Horse drawn carts carried the dead away while white Stark banners billowed in the breeze.

And through it all, Selene marched with Boltons and Mormonts behind her.

"Five Lannisters dead for every one of ours," Lord Bolton reported. "We have nowhere to keep all these prisoners. Barely enough food to feed our own."

Selene heard the underlying suggestion, "We're not executing prisoners, Lord Bolton."

"Of course, Your Grace," Bolton said politely. "The officers will be useful. Some of them may be privy to Tywin Lannister's plans."

"Only Tywin Lannister is privy to Tywin Lannister's plans."

"Well, we'll learn soon enough," Bolton conceded. "In my family we say, a naked man has few secrets, a flayed man none."

Ser Barristan spoke up from behind her, "Flaying is outlawed in the north."

"We're not in the north."

Selene stopped, forcing Bolton to stop, "We're not torturing them."

"The high road is very pretty, but you'll have a hard time marching your army down it."

Something in his eyes unsettled her. He seemed to be enjoying this conversation more than he should have.

"The Lannisters hold prisoners of their own," Selene reminded him. "We will not give them a reason to abuse them."

"No, don't!" A young boy's panicked voice rang clear nearby. "Please!"

Selene saw the young boy flat on his back, two women over him. One was a silent sister, the other a girl her own age, with olive skin and long black hair braided down her back. She, too, was covered in blood as she removed the boy's boot and assessed the wound.

"The rot's set in," the dark skinned girl observed, and then pulled a line of twine and tried wrapping it around the boy's ankle.

"No, don't! No, _don't!_ PLEASE!" He fought her.

Selene walked toward them, Lord Bolton looking at her curiously. The boy was still pleading for his foot.

"It will get better! It doesn't even hurt!"

"The rot will spread," the girl insisted. "If we don't take the foot now-"

"No, you can't!" The boy was struggling so hard they could not work.

The girl looked up at saw Selene watching. Wordlessly, Selene stepped forward and pinned the boy down. Only then did she notice his Lannister garb. The boy looked up at Selene and began to cry.

"Please, m'lady! I can't lose my leg."

The girl tied the string tight around his ankle.

Selene found her voice from somewhere, "You'll die if she doesn't."

"I don't want to be a cripple. Please!"

"Surely one of our men needs your attention more than this cub," Lord Bolton stated from above at the dark skinned girl.

"Your men are not my men," the girl said flatly. "My lord," she added on afterthought.

"Put this in your mouth and lie down," Selene said, ripping off a piece of his tunic and shoving it in his mouth. "You don't want to watch."

"NO! _YOU CAN'T!"_ The boy screamed, but the battle had made him weak, and Selene was able to hold him down with relative ease.

"Bite on it!" Selene commanded, pushing his face down so he would not watch. "It's better than biting your own tongue off." she added as the terrible sawing sound began.

The boy howled screams of pure agony. They were muffled by the cloth, but no less terrible to hear. Selene forced herself to look. She remembered how powerful she felt when she was drunk on battle. She remembered how it was almost _fun_ to cut men down like blades of grass. _This is what war is, this is what war does,_ she told herself, _It's not war horns and pretty banners and glory and riding valiantly into battle. It's innocents being slaughtered and women being widowed and children being orphaned. Its bloodshed and agony and death and I will find no joy in it._

Selene glanced at the girl doing the sawing, and wondered how she came to be here. The girl's mouth was pressed into a hard line, but she did not flinch as the boy's blood sprayed her face.

Lord Bolton walked a few paces away and spoke with his men while the girl wrapped the boy's stump. While men carried him to a cart to be taken away, Selene stared at the girl. She was wiping the drying blood from her hands. The girl noticed Selene staring, swallowed nervously, and walked away to pack her bag.

"What's your name?" Selene asked curiously.

"Talisa, my lady," The girl answered without looking.

"Your last name?"

"You want to know what side my family fights on?" she asked.

"You know who I am," Selene pointed out. In her armor, with her black sword at her waist and Eleni by her side, who else could she be? "You have me at a disadvantage."

"That boy lost his foot on your orders," Talisa said accusingly.

Anger rose in Selene's chest. "They killed my father."

Talisa finally looked up, "That boy did?"

Selene was taken back by her audacity, "The family he fights for."

"Do you think he's friends with King Joffrey? He's a fishermen's son who grew up near Lannisport. He probably never held a spear before they shoved one in his hand a few months ago."

"I have no hatred for the boy," Selene argued, but Talisa's words rang true.

She stood, slung her pack over her shoulder, and sighed, "That should help his foot grow back." Talisa walked away.

Selene's brows furrowed as she followed the girl. She didn't know why she was spending time arguing with a commoner, but something about the girl's attitude irked her. "You would have us surrender? End all this bloodshed, I understand. The country would be at peace. Life would be just under the righteous rule of good King Joffrey."

Talisa poured water from a jug down her fingers to clean them as she spoke, "Are you going to kill Joffrey?"

"We share a mother. Like it or not he is my blood, and I'm no kinslayer. But if some other hand were to do it I would not weep for him."

"And then what?"

"And then I would be queen of the Seven Kingdoms, as is my right and responsibility."

"From King's Landing?"

"Or Winterfell. I don't know, it doesn't matter."

"You have no plan for what comes after?"

"First we have to win the war," Selene said.

Talisa nodded, as if _she_ had won the argument, and hopped on a cart as it rode away bumpily.

"You never said where you're from," Selene called.

"Volantis," Talisa said.

" _Volantis?_ " Selene repeated disbelievingly. She had met envoys from Volantis, and the people seemed to share the same deep olive skin and dark eyes. "You're far from home. The boy was lucky you were here."

"He was unlucky that you were," Talisa called back as her cart went out of earshot.

"Your Grace!" Lord Bolton said. 

Selene glanced up and saw that a great tent was erected on top of a hill. She walked briskly to it, unable to wait to see Robb.

When she pushed the curtain aside to enter, her smile died on her lips.

Robb wasn't there.

"Where is he?" Selene asked blankly.

Lord Umber shifted uncomfortably, "I don't know, Your Grace."

The other lords weren't meeting her eyes.

"What do you mean _you_ _don't know?_ " 

Lord Glover spoke, "Last we saw him, the king and Lord Karstark were going after Ser Stafford himself."

"And when was this?"

He looked away, "Over an hour ago."

_An hour._ Robb could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere. The mental image made bile rise in Selene's throat. She walked around the war table where the lords sat to its head, where two seats had been put down for her and Robb. She walked past the seats and gave the lords her back, staring at the back of the tent. The fabric was grey and Selene felt her eyes glaze over as she stared at it. _Grey like the robes of the silent sisters. Grey like rot and death._

"We need to make plans," Lord Bolton said. "In case the worst has already-"

"I won't hear of it," Selene said. _I will never see him again,_ she thought dully. She would never see his eyes light up as he spoke, or hear the sound of his laugh, as full and melodic as a waterfall. She'd never feel his heartbeat beneath her fingertips as they lay in bed together, or feel his lips on her as he covered her in kisses and whispered his devotion. The pain in her chest was almost too much to bear.

_I truly love him._ Selene knew it now for a certainty. _And it only took his death for me to realize it. I'll never get to tell him. He died not knowing if his wife loved him as much as he loved her._

Selene heard the whinny of horses and the cheerful shouts of men. Every head in the tent snapped to its entrance as Robb and Lord Karstark entered, smiling.

Relief exploded in her chest, but judging by Selene's face, no one would have guessed. Her eyes were blank.

Robb looked about the tent at all the morose faces, "Who died?"

"Out," Selene said quietly, but all heard the seriousness in her voice. "Everyone out."

Robb frowned as his lords bannermen shuffled out of the tent. Lord Umber put a hand on his shoulder and murmured how glad he was the Robb was still alive. The other lords bowed and nodded and expressed their relief until Robb and Selene were alone.

Selene's eyes searched his face. His beard could have almost been black for all the dirt on his face, and dried blood marked his armor. "I thought you were dead."

"I should have sent word ahead that I was unhurt," Robb admitted. "Ser Stafford is dead. Lord Karstark killed him himself as vengeance for his sons. We've won a great victory today at Oxcross-"

"I thought you were dead."

Robb took a step forward, "I'm sorry."

Selene walked up to him slowly and was so close she could count the pores on his face. "I thought you were dead." Tears filled her eyes.

"I'm alive," Robb insisted with a reassuring smile, grabbing her hand and kissing it softly. "And so are you, though, I admit I've known you were alive since the battle ended. I asked about you as soon as I could. I heard you fought bravely. You should hear how the men talk about you now. They call you Winter's Fury. Now _that's_ -"

"I don't care," Selene interrupted. "I don't _care_ about any of that. Of glory or victory or war. I thought you were _dead,_ and the one thing I cared about in this whole world was you." She took his face in her hands and pulled him down so he would be level with her. "Robb, _I love you._ "

His eyes widened, "What?"

" _I love you._ I love your eyes and your laugh and your hair and your smile. I love it when you kiss me and when you treat me as your equal. I love it when we jest and when we..." Selene's voice trailed off as she tugged at the fastenings of his armor, her eyes alight with mischief.

Robb was half overjoyed, half shocked. "Selene," he glanced nervously at the entrance to the tent, "Our lords are all outside..."

"I don't care," she kissed his mouth firmly. He tasted like salt and earth and _life._ "I love you, Robb Stark."

He smiled at her, so happy tears welled up in his eyes, "Truly?"

"Truly," Selene murmured as she kissed him again, this time more frantically. She yanked his breastplate off his chest, and then his shoulder plates, revealing the mail and boiled leathers underneath. He did the same to her, and Selene was suddenly very aware at how much the armor had been weighing her down. Cool air met her skin as Robb pushed her leathers away. All the while they were kissing and fumbling and falling gently to the earth. They were coated with dirt and sweat and flecks of blood, but they were so _alive._

"I love you." Robb ripped her smallclothes off of her body. "I love you." Selene was sick of dealing with his laced breeches so she tore them instead. "I love you," they said together as they melted together.

Selene couldn't get enough of him. She was tired and sore but she didn't care. She didn't want to rest. She wanted to ache. She wanted him in her, all the time. His weight on top of her. She wanted to squeeze him in further and further. She rolled so she would be the one on top and rode him as wildly as she had ridden her horse earlier, her hair flowing over her shoulders like a great black river of silk. Selene wanted to watch his face as his eyes swept over her body, as they rolled to the back of his head with absolute ecstasy. Selene leaned forward and held his arms down, kissing his throat, biting it so hard she nearly drew blood. He went mad and bucked. They split each other in two. He lifted and heaved. There was no end to it, no end to the things they did to each other. He did something, she copied. She did something, he did it back. The whole world was outside, but to Selene the whole world could burn for all she cared. All that mattered was that Robb was safe and under her and alive.

And then the knot at the root of her thighs dissolved in fire, melting. They crumbled like sand.

Robb stroked her hair mindlessly where it sprawled over her arm. Selene laid her head on his chest, fingertips swirling, feeling his rapid heartbeat. To her surprise and delight, Robb opened his mouth and began to sing under his breath as he stared absentmindedly at the roof of the tent. His voice was unexpectedly pleasant and sweet.

" _I loved a maid as white as winter  
_ _With moonglow in her hair  
_ _But in her spirit was a fire  
_ _A flower ever rare_

_All I've known is ice and cold  
_ _So imagine my surprise  
_ _When that southern girl came north  
_ _With summer in her eyes."_

"I don't know that one," Selene admitted, looking up at her husband with a smile.

"It's called Summer in Her Eyes, and you shouldn't know it," Robb smiled back. "I just wrote it."

Selene sat up, her hair loose around her face as she gaped at him. "My husband is a poet!" she laughed.

Robb blushed. "Perhaps when we are back in Winterfell, I will write you more."

"Winterfell," she repeated. They would be safe and warm there, surrounded by their children. Robb would read her poems all day and Selene would dance all night. And they would be happy.

But first, the war needed to end. She had to go south. She looked down at her husband.

"I don't want you to go," Robb said stubbornly, holding her tighter.

Selene laughed, "The sooner I go, the sooner this will all be over."

Robb smiled, "And then I will write you poems."

"And then you will write me poems."


	28. Ours is the Fury

As she slept amidst the rolling grasslands, Selene dreamt of blood and death, of cutting men down, of arrows clattering against her helm, of wails of agony and the smell of guts and brains. Of her father rotting on his deathbed, of her mother plunging a dagger into her chest with burning eyes, of Ned Stark's head falling from his shoulders...

Dawn came like sweet relief. Selene awoke in a pool of sweat. She was aching and alone and weary; weary of riding, weary of grief, weary of duty. _I want to weep. I want to grieve for my father. I want to weep for my poor Tommen and Myrcella, innocents in every way. For Sansa, Arya, and Jon...Jon...I want to be comforted. I'm so tired of being strong. I want to be foolish and frightened. I just want to be a girl. Just for a small while, that's all...a day...an hour._

Outside her tent, men were stirring. She heard the whicker of horses, Shadd complaining of stiffness in his back, Ser Wendel calling for his bow. Selene wished they would all go away. They were good men, loyal, yet she was tired of them all. It was her family she yearned for. All of them. Her father, her Uncle Tyrion, Tommen, Myrcella, even her Uncle Jaime as he was in her girlhood. She missed Jon, and the truth of that gnawed at her heart. With Robb still in the westerlands and Selene alone for the first time in a while, Jon crept back into her thoughts.

One day, she promised herself as she lay abed, one day she would allow herself to be less than strong.

But not today. It could not be today.

"I have brewed some tea," Shadd announced as Selene emerged from her tent. "Will m'lady take a cup?"

"Yes, with thanks."

Selene cradled the tea in her hands and blew on it to cool it. Shadd was one of the Winterfell men. Robb had sent twenty of his best to see her safely to Renly. He had sent five lordlings as well, whose names and high birth would add weight and honor to her mission. As they made their way south, staying well clear of towns and holdfasts, they had seen bands of mailed men more than once, and glimpsed smoke on the eastern horizon, but none had dared tried them. They were too weak to be a threat, too many to be easy prey. Once, across the Blackwater, the worst was behind. For the past four days, they had seen no signs of war.

"We ought to reach Storm's End by today, Your Grace," Ser Wendel announced while Shadd spooned out the porridge. "Lord Renly will not be far, if the talk be true."

_And what of Stannis?_ Selene thought. He had laid siege to Storm's End, which could only be bad news. Renly's host was camped outside the castle's walls and he was waiting for her arrival before arranging a parlay. He wouldn't march on King's Landing until he was sure Storm's End was safe. _A good lord, but a poor soldier. He does not listen to my commands._

Selene scratched Eleni behind the ear. "It is time we were away." The sooner she spoke to her uncles, the sooner they could join Robb's forces. She was the first one mounted, and set the pace for the column. Ser Barristan rode beside her, Dacey Mormont behind, bearing her sigil, a black stag with a silver crescent on its breast on a field of gold addorsed with the grey direwolf on white.

They were still half a day's ride from Storm's End when they were taken. Robin Flint had ranged ahead to scout, and he came galloping back with word of a distant windmill. By the time Selene's party reached the mill, Renly's outriders came swooping down on them, twenty men mailed and mounted, led by a grizzled greybeard of a knight with bluejays on his surcoat.

When he saw her banners, he trotted up to her alone. "My lady," he called. "I am Ser Colen of Greenpools, as it please you. These are dangerous lands you cross."

Selene let Barristan speak for her.

"I am Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Queensguard, and you have the honor of addressing Queen Selene of Houses Baratheon and Stark, the First of Her Name. Our business with her uncle, Lord Renly, is urgent."

Ser Colen nodded, "Yes, ser. My lord is encamped with his host outside the walls of Storm's End. It shall be my great honor to escort you to him." The knight raised a mailed hand, and his men formed a double column flanking Selene and her guard.

While they journeyed, Selene took off her winter crown and placed her silver coronet firmly on her head. She was in the south now, where a bronze and iron crown would be sneered at. Her pure silver crown, with it's antlers and moonstone, was more to their taste. _I wonder if Jon can see me,_ Selene thought as the moonstone sat on her brow. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to.

They saw the smoke of the camp's fires when they were still an hour from Storm's End. Then the sound came drifting across the rolling plains, indistinct as the murmur of some distant sea, but swelling as they rode closer. By the time they caught sight of Storm's End's massive walls, they could make out the voices of men, the clatter of steel, the whinny of horses. Yet neither sound nor smoke prepared them for the host itself.

Thousands of cookfires filled the air with a pale smoky haze. The horse lines alone stretched out over leagues. She saw men with spears and men with swords, men in steel caps and mail shirts, archers fletching arrows, pages running messages, squires honing swords, knights riding palfreys.

"This is a fearsome lot of men," Dacey Mormont observed as they crossed the fields.

"That it is," Selene agreed.

The songs said that Storm's End had been raised in ancient days by Durran, the first Storm King, who had won the love of the fair Eleni, daughter of the sea god and the goddess of the wind. On the night of their wedding, Eleni had yielded her maidenhood to a mortal's love and thus doomed herself to a mortal's death, and her grieving parents had unleashed their wrath and sent the winds and waters to batter down Durran's hold. Eleni sheltered him within her arms so he took no harm, and when the dawn came he declared war on the gods and vowed to rebuild. Five more castles he built, each larger and stronger than the last, only to see them smashed asunder when the gale winds came howling up Shipbreaker's Bay, driving great walls of water before them. His lords pleaded with him to build inland; his priests told him he must placate the gods by giving Eleni back to the sea. Durran would have none of it and raised a seventh castle. Some said the children of the forest helped him build it, shaping the stones with magic; others claimed that a small boy told him what he must do, a boy who would grow to be Bran the Builder. Selene liked that version best; the thought of Robb's ancestor befriending her own. No matter how the tale was told, the end was the same. Though the angry gods threw storm after storm against it, the seventh castle stood defiant, and Durran Godsgrief and fair Eleni dwelt there together until the end of their days.

Gods do not forget, and still the gales came raging up the Narrow Sea. Yet Storm's End endured, through centuries and tens of centuries, a castle like no other. Its great curtain wall was a hundred feet high, unbroken by arrow slit or postern, everywhere rounded, curving, _smooth,_ its stones fit so cunningly together that nowhere was crevice nor angle nor gap by which the wind might enter. That wall was forty feet thick at its narrowest, and near eighty at its seaward face, a double course of stones with an inner core of sand and rubble. Of towers, there was but one, a colossal drum tower, so large that it was granary and barracks and feast hall and lord's dwelling all in one.

All the chivalry of the south had come to Renly's call. The golden rose of Highgarden was seen everywhere: sewn on the right breast of armsmen and servants, painted upon the shields hung outside the pavilions of the sons and brothers and cousins of House Tyrell. Selene saw the fox and flowers of House Florent, Fossoway apples red and green, Lord Tarly's striding huntsman, oak leaves for Oakheart, cranes for Crane, a cloud of black and orange butterflies for the Mullendores.

The storm lords had raised their banners under the walls of the castle, Renly's own bannermen sworn to House Baratheon. Selene recognized Bryce Caron's nightingales, the Penrose quills, and Lord Estermont's sea turle, green on green. Yet for every shield she knew, there were a dozen strange to her, borne by small lords sworn to the bannermen, and by hedge knights and freeriders who had come swarming to Renly's call.

_To Renly,_ Selene thought, _but are they loyal to me?_

"My queen, do you hear that noise?" Ser Barristan asked, trotting close. "What is that?"

She listened. Shouts, and horses screaming, and the clash of steel, and... "Cheering," she said. They had been riding up a gentle slope toward a line of brightly colored pavilions. As they passed between them, the press of men grew thicker, the sounds louder. And then she saw.

Below, beneath the massive walls of Storm's End, a melee was in progress.

Hundreds were gathered to watch, perhaps thousands. From the looks of the grounds, torn and muddy and littered with bits of dinted armor and broken lances, they had been at it for a day or more, but the end was near. Fewer than a score of knights remained ahorse, charging and slashing at each other as watchers and fallen combatants cheered them on. She saw two destriers collide in full armor, going down in a tangle of steel and horseflesh.

"A tourney," Dacey said in wonder. Being from Bear Island, Dacey must have never seen such pageantry in her life.

"Oh, splendid," Ser Wendel Manderly said as a knight in a green cloak wheeled to deliver a backhanded blow with a long-handled axe that shattered the shield of the man pursuing him and sent him reeling in his stirrups.

The crowd in front of them made further progress difficult. "Queen Selene," Ser Colen said, "if your men would be so good as to wait here, I'll present you to Lord Renly."

"I would have Ser Barristan with me. And Lady Dacey." Selene had grown fond of the older girl. She had never met another girl skilled in weaponry. Dacey was shy, but good company.

Ser Colen walked his horse slowly through the throngs, with Selene riding in his wake. A roar went up from the crowd as a helmetless red-bearded man with a griffin on his shield went down before a big knight in blue armor. His steel was a deep cobalt, even the blunt morningstar he wielded with such deadly effect, his mount barded in the quartered sun and moon heraldry of House Tarth.

"Red Ronnet's down, gods be damned," a man cursed.

"Loras'll do for that blue-" a companion answered before a roar drowned out the rest of his words.

Another man was fallen, trapped beneath his injured horse, both of them screaming in pain. Squires rushed out to aid them.

_This is madness,_ Selene thought. _Real enemies on every side and half the realm in flames, and Renly sits here playing war like a boy with his first wooden sword._

The lords and ladies in the gallery were as engrossed in the melee as the men on the ground. Selene knew them well. Lords of the realm often came to King's Landing to pay homage to her father, and offer up their children as suitors to the princes and princesses. She recognized Lord Mathis Rowan, stouter and more ornate than ever, the golden tree of his House spread across his white doublet. Below him sat Lady Oakheart, tiny and delicate, and to her left Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill, his greatsword Heartsbane propped up against the back of his seat. Others she knew only by their sigils, and some not at all.

In their midst, watching and laughing with his young bride, sat her uncle in his finery.

_Small wonder the lords gather around him with such fervor,_ she thought. _He_ _is Robert come again._ Selene could see her father's features in Renly, before the fat had grown around them. Renly was long of limb and broad of shoulder, with the same coal-black hair, fine and straight, the same deep blue eyes, the same easy smile.

The girl who shared the high seat with him was of Highgarden, Margaery, daughter to Lord Mace Tyrell. Their marriage was the mortar that held the great southern alliance together. Renly was only one-and-twenty, the girl no older than Robb, very pretty, with a doe's soft eyes and a mane of curling brown hair that fell about her shoulders in lazy ringlets. Her smile was shy and sweet.

Out in the field, another man lost his seat to a knight, and Renly shouted his approval with the rest. " _Loras!_ " she heard him call. " _Loras! Highgarden!_ " Margaery clapped her hands with excitement.

Selene turned to see the end of it. Only two men were left in the fight now, and there was small doubt whom Renly and the commons favored. Selene had met Ser Loras Tyrell several times, especially during tourneys, and now he was fighting the last remaining knight.

Longaxe flashed and morningstar whirled. Shieldless, the blue knight was getting much the worse of it. Ser Loras rained down blows on his head and shoulders, to shouts of " _Highgarden!_ " from the crowd. The other gave answer with his morningstar, but whenever the ball came crashing in, Ser Loras interposed his battered green shield, emblazoned with three gold roses. When the longaxe caught the blue knight's hand on the backswing and sent the morningstar flying from his grasp, the crowd screamed. The Knight of Flowers raised his axe for the final blow.

The blue knight charged into it. The stallions slammed together, the blunted axehead smashed against the scarred blue breastplate…but somehow the blue knight had them locked between steel-gaunted fingers. He wrenched it from Ser Loras's hand, and suddenly the two were grappling mount-to-mount, and an instant later they were falling. As their horses pulled apart, they crashed to the ground with bone-jarring force. Loras Tyrell, on the bottom, took the brunt of the impact. The blue knight pulled a long dirk free and flicked open Tyrell's visor. The roar of the crowd was too loud for Selene to hear what Ser Loras said, but she saw the word form on his split, bloody lips. _Yield._

The blue knight climbed unsteadily to his feet, and raised his dirk in the direction of Selene, the salute of a champion to his queen. The crowd turned to face her. Most had not realized she had arrived. The once screaming field was hushed as the commons and highborns alike took her in. As men began to fall to their knees, squires rushed to the field to help the vanquished Loras. A girlish blush rose in Selene's cheeks. The boy's handsomeness had always disconcerted her. Even now, with blood on his lips, he was as pretty as his sister.

"My dear niece!" Lord Renly called to her. "Please, come forward."

Selene urged Thunder toward the gallery. Men cleared a path for her, Ser Barristan, and Dacey. When they caught sight of Ser Barristan, the commons murmured. Selmy lent honor to anyone he served, and Selene was proud to have him by her side. When she reached the gallery, Renly looked toward the battered champion.

"Approach," Renly called to him.

He limped toward the gallery. A few voices hailed him with cries of " _Tarth!_ " and, oddly, " _A Beauty! A Beauty!"_ but most were silent.

The blue knight knelt before Selene and Renly. "Your Grace," he said, his voice muffled by his dented greathelm.

"You are all your lord father claimed you were, Brienne," Renly's voice carried over the field. "I've seen Ser Loras unhorsed once or twice…but never quite in _that_ fashion. As champion, you may ask of me anything your heart desires," Renly said grandly. "If it is in my power, it is yours."

The knight turned to Selene, "Your Grace, I have heard stories of your skill with sword, fierceness in battle, and noble heart. My House is sworn to yours. I ask the honor of a place amongst your Queensguard. I would pledge my life to yours, go where you go, ride at your side, and keep you safe from all hurt and harm."

Selene glanced at Ser Barristan. Renly had put her in a difficult position. How could she refuse a champion so publicly? But she had no idea who he was.

Selmy nodded.

"I accept your vow and thank you for your loyalty," Selene said. "Rise, and remove your helm."

He did as she bid. And when the greathelm was lifted, Selene bit her lip to keep from gasping.

_A woman,_ Selene thought incredulously. Beauty, they called her...mocking. The hair beneath the visor was a squirrel's nest of dirty straw, and her face...Brienne's eyes were large and very blue, a young girl's eyes, trusting and guileless, but the rest...her features were broad and coarse, her teeth prominent and crooked, her mouth too wide, her lips so plump they seemed swollen. A thousand freckles speckled her cheeks and brow, and her nose had been broken more than once. Pity filled Selene's heart. She remembered something her mother had said once in passing, "Is there any creature on earth as unfortunate as an ugly woman?"

And yet, when Selmy cut away her torn cloak and fastened a white one it its place, Brienne of Tarth did not look unfortunate. Her smile lit up her face, and her voice was strong and proud as she said, "My life for yours, Your Grace. From this day on, I am your shield; I swear it by the old gods and the new."

Selene nodded, pleased that a warrior woman would join her Queensguard.

Renly turned to his young wife, "Margaery, my sweet, this is my niece Selene, daughter of my beloved brother Robert."

"You are most welcome here, Queen Selene," the girl said, all soft courtesy. "I am sorry for your loss."

Sometimes, Selene almost forgot her father had passed. That thought made her want to cry. "You are kind," she said to Margaery with dry eyes.

"Niece, I swear to you, I will see that the Lannisters answer for your father's murder," Renly declared. "When we take King's Landing, I'll send you your mother's head."

_And will that bring my father back? Will that not destroy Tommen and Myrcella?_ "It will be enough to know that justice has been done, Uncle."

"What of Stannis?" A lord she did not recognize called from the gallery. "He calls himself king!"

"The distance between _lord_ and _king_ is a small one, my lord," Selene responded cooly. "Stannis may wear a crown, but so do I, and my husband besides. If you wish, we may stand here in the mud and debate what honors and titles are rightly due to each, but it strikes me that we have more pressing matters to consider."

Some of Renly's lords bristled at that, but Renly laughed, "Well said, Your Grace. There will be time enough for honors when these wars are done. Tell me, when does your husband mean to march against Harrenhal?"

Selene was not about to reveal Robb's strategy to the entire south. "I believe that conversation is best left for the war council."

"So long as he leaves a few Lannisters for me, I'll not complain. What has he done with the Kingslayer?"

"Jaime Lannister is held prisoner at Riverrun."

"Still alive?" Lord Mathis Rowan seemed dismayed.

Bemused, Renly said, "It would seem the direwolf is gentler than the lion."

"Gentler than the Lannisters," murmured Lady Oakheart with a bitter smile, "is drier than the sea."

"I call it weak," Lord Randyll Tarly had a short, bristly grey beard and a reputation for blunt speech. "No disrespect to you, Your Grace, but it would have been more seemly had Lord Robb come as well, rather than hiding behind his wife's skirts."

" _King_ Robb is fighting a war, my lord," Selene replied with icy courtesy, "not playing at one."

Renly grinned, "Go softly, Lord Randyll, I fear you're overmatched. You are speaking to Winter's Fury." He summoned a steward. "Find a place for my niece's companions, and see that they have every comfort. Queen Selene shall have my own pavilion. Dear niece, I would be honored if you would share our meat and mead at a welcome feast tonight. We'll talk again when you've had a chance to refresh yourself."

Renly led his bride away while his steward conducted Selene to the king's green silk pavilion. "If you have need of anything, you have only to ask, Your Grace."

Selene could scarcely imagine what she might need that had not already been provided. Leather chairs, books, maps, game boards, a harp, and fine weapons. _Renly moves so slowly, and this is why._

Renly's own battle armor stood in the center of the room. The emerald plate was so polished, Selene could see her reflection in it's sheen, gazing back at her as if from the bottom of a deep green pond. _The face of a drowned girl,_ Selene thought. _Can you drown in grief?_ She turned sharply away, angry with her own frailty. She had no time for the luxury of self-pity. She washed the dust from her hair and changed into a gown more fitting for a feast.

Ser Barristan, Lady Dacey, and the rest of her highborn companions accompanied her to the castle. Storm's End's great hall was high and long, but still the benches were crowded. Selene sat on the center chair on the upper dais, the place of honor. Renly sat to her right, with his wife beside him. Ser Barristan was sat to her left. Eleni chewed on meat at her feet.

Brienne of Tarth was seated a few places away. She did not gown herself as a lady, but chose a knight's finery instead.

"Uncle," Selene said in a low voice, "we need to speak of Stannis. He's at our shores-"

Renly waved his hand, "Please, my dear, you've had a long journey. Eat and be merry."

Of food, there was plenty. The war had not touched the fabled bounty of Highgarden. The rich foods made Selene queasy, but it would never do to show weakness when so much depended on her strength. She ate sparingly, while watching her uncle. Renly fed Margaery choice morsels off the point of his dagger, and kissed her cheek lightly from time to time, but it was her brother Loras who shared most of his jests and confidences. The looks Renly gave Loras reminded her of the way Robb looked at her. Selene shook her head at that absurd thought. Renly enjoyed his food and drink, yet he seemed neither a glutton nor drunkard. He laughed often, and well, and spoke amiably to highborn lords and lowly serving wenches alike.

Some of the guests were less moderate. They drank too much and boasted too loudly. The height of folly was reached when a plump fool came running out in gold-painted cloth with a paper lion's head, and chased a dwarf around the tables, whacking him over the head with a pan. Selene gripped the arms of her seat to keep from raging at the depiction of Tyrion. Finally, Renly demanded to know why he was beating his brother. "Why, my lord, I'm the Kinslayer," the fool said.

"It's _King_ slayer, fool of a fool," Renly said, and the hall rang with laughter.

Ser Barristan did not join in the merriment. "They are all so young."

It was true. In all fairness, she was younger still, but at least she had seen battle. _They are still unblooded,_ Selene thought as she watched Lord Bryce goad Ser Robar into juggling daggers. _It is all a game to them still, a large tourney, and all they see is the chance for glory and honor. They are boys drunk on song and story, and like all boys, they think themselves immortal._

"War will make them old," Selene said, "as it did me. I pity them."

"Why?" Ser Barristan asked, "Look at them. They're young and strong, full of life and laughter. And lust, aye, more lust than they know what to do with. There will be many a bastard bred this night, I promise you. Why pity?"

"Because it will not last," Selene said sadly. She could see Barristan's look of concern, but continued all the same, "Because they are the knights of summer, and winter is coming."

"Spoken like a Stark," Lady Dacey said, proud.

"As morose as one, to be sure," Renly commented.

"My queen, you are mistaken." Brienne regarded her with eyes as blue as her armor. "Winter will never come for the likes of us. Should we die in battle, they will surely sing of us, and it's always summer in the songs. In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining."

_Winter comes for us all,_ Selene thought. _It came for me, the day my father died. And it will come for you, Brienne, and sooner than you like._ She did not have the heart to say it.

Renly saved her, "My queen, I feel the need for some air. Will you walk with me?"

Selene stood, "Of course, my lord."

Brienne was on her feet as well, "Your Grace, give me but a moment to don my mail. You should not be without protection."

Selene smiled, "If I am not safe in the heart of Storm's End, my family's seat, with this host around me, one sword will make no matter. Sit and eat, Brienne. If I have need of you, I'll send for you."

Her words seemed to strike Brienne harder than any blow she had taken that afternoon. "As you will, Your Grace," Brienne sat, eyes downcast.

Renly took Selene's arm and led her from the hall.

"This way, niece," Renly took her through a low door that led up to the tower. As they started up, Renly asked, "What's it like?"

"What?"

" _Battle._ " He sounded almost hungry.

"It's...humbling."

Renly laughed, "That can't be, or why would Robert have loved it so?"

When they reached the top, Selene could see the host spread out for leagues in all directions.

"Count them if you like, dear niece," Renly said quietly. "You will be counting when dawn breaks in the east. How many fires burn around Riverrun tonight, I wonder?"

Selene did not speak.

"I hear your husband crossed the Neck with twenty thousand swords at his back," Renly went on. "Now that the lords of the Trident are with him, perhaps he commands forty thousand."

_No,_ she thought, _not near so many. We have lost men in battle, and others to the harvest._ "He does not command those swords alone. We share the command."

Renly continued as if she hadn't spoken, "I have twice the number here, and this is only part of our strength. Mace Tyrell remains at Highgarden with another ten thousand. And never forget Stannis, who holds Dragonstone."

Selene was tired of him speaking to her as if she were a child. "It would seem you are the one who has forgotten Stannis." At the sound of water breaking on the shore, she walked to the other side of the tower, which faced the sea. In the water, for leagues, there were battleships.

"His claim, you mean?" Renly laughed. "Let us be blunt, Selene. Stannis would make an appalling king. Nor is he like to become one. Men respect Stannis, even fear him, but precious few have ever loved him. _You_ on the other hand…" he smiled. "You are Robert's own, none can deny that. You are every knight's fantasy, a beautiful princess with a stolen birthright. They will line up for the chance to die for you. It seems you ensnared the Young Wolf quick enough."

"I did not _ensnare_ him," Selene said sharply.

Renly shrugged. "I meant it as a compliment, my dear. You have the right name, blood, and temperament for the throne. You have armies, and you've already been blooded. Even here in the south, we hear of _Winter's Fury_."

"News travels fast."

Renly smiled, "I think it's a great name. A bit on the nose for my taste, but definitely something that will grab the Lannister's attention. A blend of the Baratheon and Stark words, of the north and south. How can Stannis deny you?"

"And so why has he besieged Storm's End, if he is so loyal?"

"Apparently he has a red priestess whispering in his ear. She's filled his head with notions of destiny and prophecy, but Stannis is a man of reason, not religion. Once we speak with him, and he sees all our strength, he will join us."

"Have you forgotten what my father did on Stannis's wedding night?"

Renly waved his hand dismissively. "Stannis can hold all the grudges he likes. It does not change the succession."

Selene didn't think it would be that easy. Robert had bedded a woman on Stannis's wedding night, _in the marriage bed._ In the stormlands, it was whispered that Robert's act had cursed the marriage, and was the reason Stannis's wife couldn't birth a living son. That, combined with Robert making Renly Lord of Storm's End, left Selene believing Stannis would not be as loyal as Renly imagined.

"You should worry less about Stannis and more about Robb Stark."

Selene frowned, "Why?"

"Do you claim to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, or six? Your husband calls himself King in the North, and is a usurper. Do you plan on living in Winterfell after the fighting is done?"

"I'll live wherever I like," Selene said. "What matter is that now?"

"King's Landing is the seat of power in the kingdoms. You can't rule from the north, the south will never understand."

"I will rule from wherever I like." But her words felt hollow. "Robb and I will rule together as equals."

Renly laughed, "As your parents did?"

Selene grit her teeth, "That was different."

"Come now, Selene, when was there ever a king and queen who ruled together as equals? You can keep each other's counsel, but one will always have the last word, and it looks like you've given that position to him."

"I-" She was about to defend herself when she remembered Theon, and how Robb had won that argument with ease. His dismissal stung now as much as it had then.

Renly noticed her hesitation. "And your children? Will they be called Baratheon or Stark? Will they inherit Winterfell and the north or all the Seven Kingdoms?"

Selene shook her head, "I don't know."

"Well, you might want to think on it," Renly advised. "With all the good that came from the Battle of Oxcross, there is a rumor flying around that is not as pretty as _Winter's Fury."_

Selene's mouth felt dry, "What are you talking about?"

Renly looked uncomfortable. "Some commoners say…they say that after the King and Queen in the North finish killing, they bed each other amongst the dead, covered in the blood of their enemies."

Selene paled, "That's not what happened."

Renly raised his hands in submission. "Believe me, niece, I understand how the truth can be twisted, but what I mean to say is that you are not above the commoners talk. You are a woman in power, and so many will try to tear you down. And most times, the best way is to question your honor."

Selene looked out into the night.

Renly kissed her temple. "Rest, now. We will parley with Stannis in the morning, and get him on _our_ side." He gave her a sidelong glance. "Who's fury?"

Despite herself, Selene couldn't hide her smile. He used to ask her that when she was a child. She responded as she always had, "Ours. Ours is the Fury _."_

###

"My queen?" Ser Barristan asked before she went to lie down in her featherbed.

Selene was dressed in a simple sleeping shift, her hair loose around her face. "Yes, my knight?"

"May I speak plainly?"

Selene smiled, "You know I always want you to."

"You have handled yourself with incredible grace," Ser Barristan started. "You have held your ground, both on the battlefield and in the presence of great lords who do nothing but look for weakness in you. You've shown strength, resilience, intelligence…"

"Tyrion once told me that nothing someone says before the word _but_ really counts."

Selmy eyed her, "...but, I fear for your mind."

"My mind?"

"Yes, and your gentle heart."

Selene stared at her sword, "Not that gentle. The shades of the men I have killed can tell you so."

"Precisely," Ser Barristan sat in one of her chairs and gestured for her to sit beside him. "You are so strong, that sometimes I forget your age. Selene, you are still only a _child._ You have lost so much... I want you to know it's alright to be enraged and sorrowful. To feel self-pity."

"If I look back I am lost," Selene said, swallowing the tears that filled up in her eyes. "You told me that yourself. I can't look behind."

Barristan nodded, "Aye, I did. In _that_ moment, you needed to be strong. We had to get out of King's Landing. But now…you can allow yourself to feel."

Selene shook her head, "Not yet, not until the war is done."

"That could take time. Years, even."

_Years,_ Selene thought dully. _Years of this pain._ She didn't think she could make it. _But I have to…I have to..._

"What makes you happy? What makes you think of better days?"

Selene glanced at her coronet, the moonstone gleaming in the firelight. _Jon…Jon made me feel like an ordinary girl. With him, there was no bloodshed or liars or war or death. With him it was Dorne and peace and warmth and light. Jon…_

"There, what you're thinking right now," Ser Barristan said. "Hold it in your mind. Let it fill your heart with joy."

"I can't," Selene choked. The thought of Jon made guilt rise in her chest, but the worst part was she didn't know what was making her guilty. Was the thought of Robb making her feel guilty for love for Jon, or was the thought of Jon making her feel guilty for love of Robb? Her mind was in turmoil.

"You must, Selene. Better to feel too much, than nothing at all."

"I'm not quite sure I agree," Selene responded softly. She could almost hear her father's laughter as they hunted together, Tommen and Myrcella's giggles as the three of them played with Eleni in the courtyard, the sound of pages turning as she sat quietly beside Tyrion in the library, sunlight streaming through the windows, and the sound of wooden swords as she practiced with her Uncle Jaime all those years ago.

Selene realized her cheeks was wet. She wiped at her face roughly, "Leave me."

Ser Barristan nodded, and with a flurry of his white cloak, left the tent.

Selene's sobs started deep in her belly. She fought them with everything she had, but they rose up and out of her throat and filled the tent. She reached for a pillow and smothered her face with it, trying to keep the noise from spilling outside. Her strangled cries were loud in her ears. Selene felt like a child again. _Why doesn't Mother love me like she loves Joff? Why do Mother and Father hate each other? Why has Jaime stopped training me? Why did Father have to die? Or Ned? Why can't I stop thinking about Jon? Why, why, WHY?_ She cried until there were no tears left in her body.

Exhausted, she slumped into bed. Without realizing it, she had grabbed her coronet. She held it close and let sleep claim her...

And then she was standing in the middle of a dark wood, snow covering the ground in a thick blanket.

_What a strange dream,_ Selene pondered as she looked around. She was dressed in her sleeping shift, bare feet on the snowy ground, but she didn't feel cold. In the distance she saw a wooden cabin, with torches lighting up the corner of the forest. She could hear the distant sounds of men, but the snow muffled their noise. In wonder, she turned...

And came face to face with Jon Snow.

Selene reeled back with a gasp.

Jon wasn't looking at her, but through her, deeper into the woods. He wore thick black furs, and his dark curls blew in a breeze that Selene could not feel.

"Jon?" Selene breathed. She took a step forward and waved her hand in front of his face.

He kept on staring, ignoring her.

"I'm dreaming," Selene said to herself. "I must be dreaming." But it felt real. She was there. She was right in front of him.

Selene nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a voice.

"I know for a _fact_ that some of the officers go to that brothel in Mole's Town." Selene turned to see a fat boy waddling up to Jon, apparently trying to finish a conversation that Jon had evaded.

"I wouldn't doubt it, Sam," Jon replied flatly. He gave a frustrated sigh. "Leave me be. I'm on guard duty."

Sam ignored him. "Well, don't you think it's a little bit unfair?" he whined. "Making us keep our vows while they sneak off for a little...Sally on the side."

Jon gave him an incredulous look, " _Sally on the side?_ "

"It's silly isn't it?" The fat boy continued. "What? We can't defend the Wall unless we're celibate? It's absurd!"

"I didn't think you would be so upset about it."

The fat boy straightened, "Why not? Cause I'm fat?"

"No," Jon said quickly.

"I like girls just as much as you do!" Sam argued. "They might not like me as much...I've never... _been_ with one."

Jon looked at the boy for a moment, and then continued to stare out into the distance.

"You've probably had hundreds," the boy said in admiration.

"No," Jon turned. "As a matter of fact...I'm the same as you."

Sam chuckled, shaking his head, "Yeah, I find that hard to believe."

"I've never been with anyone, but...there's only been one," Jon said, his eyes distant and faraway. "One girl I've ever wanted."

Selene felt her heart slow in her chest.

"How close did you get?"

Jon shook his head, "It was never going to happen. We both had our duties...but I was alone with her a few times. Once in the middle of a forest. Once in a cave."

"What happened?" Sam asked jokingly. "Didn't know where to put it?"

"I know where to put it," Jon said in a voice so serious that Selene laughed.

"Was she old and ugly?" 

"Young and gorgeous," Jon said with a knowing smile.

"What color eyes?"

"Deep blue...like a clear sky at dusk."

"Oh," Sam said, intrigued. "I like blue eyes. And her, um..." Sam groped his chest awkwardly.

"You don't want to know," Jon said with a small smile, staring at his shoes.

"What, that good?" Sam said disbelievingly.

"Better," Jon grinned.

Selene heard herself laugh, but it sounded far away.

"Oh, no," Sam giggled. "So, why exactly did you not make love to the blue eyed girl with perfect..." Sam gestured at his chest again.

"I was meant for the Wall and she...she was meant for my brother."

Selene couldn't feel the cold or the wind, but she felt the tears streaming silently down her cheeks.

Sam looked thunderstruck. "She's _highborn_?"

"As highborn as a girl can be."

"And what? You admired her from afar?"

Jon pulled out the necklace from under his furs. "I loved her, and she loved me."

"Seven hells, is that a _moonstone_?"

Jon nodded proudly, "She gave it to me. This, and a few kisses."

"They're incredibly rare," Sam breathed. "She must have really loved you."

" _I did._ " Selene's cries fell on deaf ears. " _I do..._ "

Jon's voice grew soft, "We talked about running away together."

"No!"

"Yes," Jon's smile was sad. "We would never have done it, but we spent hours talking of how we would meet in another life, how we would live somewhere warm like Dorne, our children and their names…"

Selene saw Sam's eyes redden, "What's it like? To love someone and have them love you back?"

Jon swallowed.

"We're beyond the Wall, at the keep of some crazy man who beds his daughters..." Sam reasoned. "We are all going to die, a lot sooner than I planned. You're the closest I'll ever get to knowing."

Jon sighed, "It's...there's this person, this whole other person. But when you're together you don't _feel_ like they're another person. Just another part of yourself...and you…For a little...for a little while you're more than just you…you're..." Jon growled in frustration. "Well, I don't know! I'm not a bleeding poet."

"No, you're really not. Who was she?" 

Selene froze.

"I could tell you everything about her," Jon said with a wistful smile. "Who she is, how we met, the sound of her laugh, and the shape of her nose..."

Sam hung on every word.

Selene's heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, not wanting to miss a word.

"I can see her," Jon whispered, "right in front of me. She's more real than you are."

"I'm here, Jon," Selene choked. She stepped forward into his line of vision and pretended he was looking at her. " _Jon!_ "

For a moment, Selene could have sworn his eyes focused on her. Before she could be sure, he turned back to Sam.

"There's news from the south. She married my brother."

Sam looked confused. "Your brother Robb? Didn't he marry Princess Selene?"

Jon was silent.

Sam's eyes grew to the size of saucers, " _FUCKING HELLS!_ "

"Shut up!"

"Fucking hells!" Sam repeated, a little quieter. " _The_ Princess Selene?" Sam gave a low whistle. "My father brought me to court once a few years ago. I remember being so nervous to speak to her that I retched."

Selene tried her best to remember him. She should have, given his size, but the memory did not come.

"Queen Selene now," Jon corrected him. "Queen in the North, and soon the Seven Kingdoms when they win their war. She was Princess Selene when she came to Winterfell. When she sparred with me. When she danced with me. When she treated me like I was worth something."

"And she loves you," Sam said in wonder. "The princess and the bastard. Isn't that poetic?"

" _Loved,_ " Jon insisted. "She loves my brother now."

Selene wanted to argue, to shake him, to tell him that he was the first boy she ever loved, but she knew there was no point.

"You don't know that!" Sam said excitedly. "How could you know that?"

Jon gripped the moonstone, "I don't know. I can just feel it."

Sam scoffed, but then his eyes focused on the necklace. "Wait, does she have her own moonstone?"

"What?"

"Does Selene have her own moonstone? A twin for the one you're wearing?"

Jon shook his head, unsure, "I don't know. Why does it matter?"

"They say moonstones, I don't know, _connect_ people. I've read about it. Have you had any dreams or visions of her?"

"I dream of her all the time," Jon admitted, "but they're just memories. Nothing..." Jon trailed away.

Sam looked at him expectantly. "What is it?"

Jon's eyes were out of focus. "I did see her once in a dream… She was sitting on the Iron Throne…my father was beside her. They were betrayed. I thought it was just a nightmare, but then word came that my father was imprisoned."

"Was she wearing a moonstone?"

Jon closed his eyes, as if trying to remember every detail. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, "There's one in her crown!"

"So they _do_ work!" Sam was giddy. "Okay, so when she's wearing hers, you can see her. How often do you wear yours?"

"I never take it off," Jon said without hesitation.

Sam smiled, "She could be here right now."

" _I am,_ " Selene said. She tried grabbing Jon's face, but her fingers went clean through him, as if she were made of smoke.

"What would you tell her?" Sam asked. "If she was?"

Jon thought for a moment, "I would tell her..." he looked at his friend and sighed, "it's difficult with you here."

Sam scoffed, "Fine, I'll leave, but swear you'll say the words aloud!"

Jon laughed, "I swear."

Sam waddled away, back toward the cabin.

Jon snorted, "Ridiculous...moonstones aren't magic..." and yet his eyes glanced around the woods hopefully.

"This is stupid..." he muttered, but then straightened. "Selene, if you're there, I want you to know..." he rubbed the moonstone on his neck and sighed. "It's okay that you love Robb now. I don't hold it against you. We knew you're fate when we met, and we fell in love all the same."

"Jon..." Selene managed, but of course, he didn't hear her.

Tears rose to Jon's eyes. "You've given me more love than I ever thought I would have in my life, and I'm so lucky to have known you, even for such a short time. I will treasure our days together until my last...which may be sooner than I'd like."

Selene's laughter escaped her, sad and sharp.

The world around her began to darken, until there was only Jon in the blackness.

"And...I'll see you in another life." Jon pressed his lips to the moonstone and whispered, "I love you."

Darkness swam in her vision, and the void swallowed her up.

* * *

**Author's Note**

Whew! That was my longest chapter ever by far. Thanks for the read and please review!


	29. A Child Named Stark

The meeting place was grassy, above a cliff overlooking the sea.

"We are the first here, Your Grace," Ser Barristan said.

Renly huffed, "I told you, Selene. It would have been better if we were late. Now he can keep us waiting however long he likes."

_He sounds like a child,_ Selene thought. She had taken care to look the part of a queen. Her silver tunic was as bright as the coronet in her hair. Her hair was plaited all around her roots, connected at the back, and fell down to her waist. Stormsbane sat in its scabbard, and Eleni stood proudly at Thunder's side.

The stag banner of House Baratheon flapped and fluttered atop the lance that was born by one of her distant cousins, Ser Andrew Estermont. Brienne held Selene's special standard atop the lance she bore. The smell of salt was heavy on the wind gusting from the east.

Across the rain-sodden fields and stony ridges, she could see the great castle of Storm's End rearing up against the sky, its back to the sea. Beneath the mass of pale grey stone, the encircling army of her Uncle Stannis looked as small and insignificant as mice with banners.

"Your Grace," Brienne called. Two riders had emerged from the tidy little camp beneath the castle and were coming toward them at a slow walk. "That will be Lord Stannis."

"No doubt." Selene watched them come. _That can't be his banner._ It was a bright yellow, not the rich gold of Renly's standard, and the device it bore was red, though she could not make out its shape.

As he neared, Selene saw that Stannis wore a crown of red gold with points fashioned in the shape of flames. His belt was studded with garnets and yellow topaz, and a great square cut ruby was set in the hilt of the sword he wore. Otherwise, his dress was plain: studded leather jerkin over quilted doublet, worn boots, breeches of roughspun. In the center of his banner showed a red heart surrounded by a blaze of orange fire. The crowned stag was there, yes...but shrunken and enclosed within the heart. Even more curious was the standard bearer - a woman, garbed all in reds, face shadowed within the deep hood of her scarlet cloak. _His red priestess._ Selene had heard of the prophetess who whispered in her uncle's ear. The sect was numerous and powerful in the Free Cities and distant east, but there were few in the Seven Kingdoms.

"Lady Selene," Stannis Baratheon said with chill courtesy as he reined up. He inclined his head, balder than she remembered.

Two could play the game.

"Lord Stannis."

Beneath the tight-trimmed beard, his heavy jaw clenched hard, yet he did not hector her about titles. His deepset eyes regarded her uncomfortably. He had never been an affectionate man.

"Brother," Stannis said with a curt nod to Renly. His eyes flickered back to Selene, "I am sorry for your father's death, though, Robert and I loved each other not."

_The years have not changed him._ Selene held her tongue.

Stannis continued, "I have no quarrel with you, should you prove dutiful. I am Robert's trueborn brother and therefore the rightful king under the succession laws of the Iron Throne. I want only what is mine by rights. You both owe me your loyalty and obedience. I mean to have it. From you, and from your lords." Stannis studied her face. "You are Robert's child, there is no denying it. I see him in you, as he was never in your bastard half-siblings...but a brother comes before a daughter."

_This one will never bend,_ Selene thought, _bu_ _t I have to try._

"The stormlands and the Reach have declared me their queen, as was the dying wish of my father. My husband and I reign as King and Queen in the North, by the wills of our lords and people. I bend the knee to no man, but hold out the hand of friendship to all."

"Kings have no friends," Stannis said bluntly, "only subjects and enemies."

"And brothers," Renly said, cheerfully. In comparison to Stannis, Renly was resplendent in his green velvet doublet and satin cloak trimmed in vair.

_They could not be more different,_ Selene thought. _The iron gauntlet and the silk glove._

"Whose banner do you bear?" Renly asked.

"Mine own."

The priestess spoke up, "The king has taken for his sigil the fiery heart of the Lord of Light."

Renly seemed amused by that. "All for the good. If both sides use the same banner, the battle would be terribly confusing."

"It is my dearest hope it doesn't come to that," Selene said sharply. "We all share a common foe who would destroy us all."

Stannis studied her, unsmiling. "It does not matter what madness possessed Robert on his deathbed. The Iron Throne is mine by rights. All those why deny that are my foes."

"The whole realm denies it, brother," said Renly. "Selene is Robert's trueborn child. It does not matter what rules the Targaryens made centuries ago for the throne. By the laws of every kingdom, a trueborn daughter inherits before a brother. She is the rightful queen, and the one the realm wants. Sorry."

Stannis clenched his jaw, his face taut as he stared at Selene's coronet, "I swore I would never treat with you while you wore your traitor's crown. Would that I kept that vow."

"This is folly," Selene responded. "Lord Tywin sits at Harrenhal with twenty thousand swords. Cersei and her son hold King's Landing. You name yourself _king_ , yet the kingdom bleeds," Selene turned her head toward Renly, who had encouraged melees and tourneys the whole journey north, "and no one lifts a sword to defend it but myself and my husband."

Renly shrugged, "Your husband has won a few battles, but we will win the war. The Lannisters can wait our pleasure."

"If you have proposals to make, make them," Stannis said brusquely, "or I will be gone."

"Very well," said Selene. "I propose you bend the knee and swear me your allegiance. You can keep Dragonstone and your position on the council as Master of Ships. I will even name you my heir, as my father's trueborn brother, until a child is born to me."

Stannis choked back his rage, "That you shall never have."

"You served Robert, why not me?"

"Robert was my elder brother. You are his daughter, a child, and a Lannister."

Renly snorted, "Look her in the eyes, brother, they are the same as yours. Look at her hair, the way she holds a sword…call her a Lannister and I'll call you a liar. Or blind. She's better suited for the throne than you...younger, bolder, and _far_ more comely..."

"...and a thief and a usurper besides. A king in the north rose up against the crown and what does she do? _Marry_ him. If you ask me, someone with more sense should rule."

"I've peacefully brought the north back into the realm," Selene argued.

"The realm needs a Baratheon on the throne, and you have ensured a Stark king. A king rules his queen, niece, not the other way around."

Renly laughed, "And you think a _Florent_ should be queen? Have you lost your wits?"

_This will not do._ "Listen to me!" Selene snapped. "I will not have us trade insults like a couple of fools while the Lannisters laugh themselves to death over us."

Stannis frowned at her. "You presume too much, Selene. I am the rightful king, and your husband is no less a traitor than the Lannisters. His day will come as well."

The naked threat fanned her fury. "You are very free to name others traitor and usurper, my lord, but how are you any different? You say you are the rightful king, yet it seems to me that the law in every kingdom states a daughter comes before a brother. By all laws, I am queen, and you a usurper."

Renly reached into his cloak. Stannis noticed and grabbed the hilt of his sword, but before he could do anything Renly pulled out...a peach. "Would you like one, brother?" he asked, taking a bite. "From Highgarden. I promise you, you've never tasted anything as sweet."

"I did not come here to eat fruit." Stannis was fuming.

"You should bow to your brother," the red woman said. "He's the lord's chosen. Born amidst salt and smoke."

" _Born amidst salt and smoke?_ " Renly repeated incredulously. "Is he a ham?"

" _My lords,_ " Selene said. "We ought to be hammering out the terms of an alliance, not trading taunts." This feud was deeper than Selene could have ever imagined.

"A man should never refuse to taste a peach," Renly said as he tossed it away. "He may never get the chance again. Life is short, Stannis. Remember what the Starks say. Winter is coming." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I did not come here to be threatened, either."

"Nor were you," Renly snapped. "When I make threats, you'll know it."

"Uncle Stannis," Selene interrupted before Renly could make things worse, "you respect honesty and so let me be frank. I understand there is no loss of affection between us, but you are my own blood, and I have no wish for conflict."

Stannis gave a sidelong glance at his priestess. "Would you give me what is mine by rights? Storm's End should be mine, not Renly's."

Selene swallowed. She had always understood Stannis's point about Storm's End, but she didn't want to antagonize Renly. "My father, in his wisdom, gave Dragonstone to you, and Storm's End to Renly. I have no right to change his decision."

"It was not his to give. It is rightfully mine."

Sighing, Renly turned in his saddle, "What are we to do with this brother of mine, Selene? He refuses my peach, refuses Dragonstone, an ancient and powerful seat, he even shunned my wedding..."

"We both know your wedding was a mummer's farce. A year ago you were scheming to make the girl one of Robert's whores."

Selene did not know that. She turned to Renly, who gave an easy shrug. "A year ago I was scheming to make the girl Robert's queen," Renly said, "but what does it matter? The boar got Robert and I got Margaery. You'll be pleased to know she came to me a maid."

"In your bed she's like to die that way."

Selene frowned.

Renly spoke quickly, "Oh, I expect I'll get a son on her within the year. Pray, how many sons do you have, Stannis? Oh, yes...none." Renly smiled innocently. "As to your daughter, I understand. If my wife looked like yours, I'd send my fool to service her as well."

" _Enough!_ " Stannis roared. "I will not be mocked to my face, do you hear me? _I will not!_ " He yanked his longsword from its scabbard. The steel gleamed strangely bright in the wan sunlight, now red, now yellow, now blazing white. The air around it seemed to shimmer, as if from heat.

Ser Barristan's sword was out before Selene could blink, "Put away your steel!"

_Mother is laughing herself breathless._

Stannis pointed his sword at his brother. "I am not without mercy," thundered he who was notoriously without mercy. "Nor do I wish to sully Lightbringer with the blood of my kin. For the sake of the mother who bore us, and the brother who sired you, I will give you both this night to rethink your folly. Strike your banners and come to me before dawn, and I will grant Renly Storm's End. And I will let you, Selene, be the Lady Stark and live with your husband in peace, once he swears me fealty. Otherwise, I will destroy you."

Renly laughed, "Stannis, that's a very pretty sword, I'll grant you, but I think the glow off it has ruined your eyes. Look across the fields, brother. Can you see those banners?"

Stannis eyed Selene, "Do you think a few bolts of cloth will make you queen?"

Selene stared at her uncle hard, "The men holding those bolts of cloth will make me queen. Tyrell, Penrose, Estermont, Rowan, Tarly...and countless others. And that's only the south. Tully, Blackwoord, Mormont, Bolton, Umber, Karstark...the list goes on forever, Uncle. And you will _destroy_ me? With what, pray? The paltry rabble I see there huddled in the waters? I'll call them five thousand and be generous, codfish lords and onion knights and sellswords. Half of them are like to come over to me before the battle starts. You have fewer than four hundred horse, the scouts tell me - freeriders in boiled leather who will not stand an instant against armored lances. I do not care how seasoned a warrior you think you are, Stannis, that host of yours won't survive the first charge."

"We shall see, niece." Some of the light seemed to go out of the world when Stannis slid his sword back into its scabbard. "Come the dawn, we shall see."

"I hope your new god's a merciful one, brother," Renly said.

Stannis snorted and galloped away, disdainful.

The red priestess lingered, "Lady Selene, a word?"

"This is a trick," Renly said quickly. Ser Barristan and Brienne were quick to agree.

Selene looked over at the priestess. She appeared unarmed, but could be concealing a weapon in her thick robes. Selene knew Stannis would never order her assassination at a parley. It was not his way.

"Uncle Renly, it's alright," Selene said. She was curious about the woman who was said to be Stannis's true queen. "A moment."

Selene and the red priestess galloped a few paces away, close enough for her party to keep an eye on her, but far enough not to be overheard.

The red woman's horse whinnied at Eleni.

Selene smirked at the woman's obvious discomfort of the lioness's presence. "Do you wish to convert me?" she asked, amused.

"I wish to warn you," the priestess said as she pushed away her hood. Copper hair tumbled over her shoulders like a river of flames. Her skin was pale and without blemish, her red eyes burning as brightly as the ruby that pulsed at her throat. She was an otherworldly type of beauty.

"I see now why Stannis found religion in his old age."

The red priestess ignored her jape. "I have seen you in my flames."

"Have you?" Selene asked with a raised brow. "And what do your flames show?"

"You, surrounded by fire and death."

"Sounds...vague."

"I see you clearly, as clear as I am seeing you now. You will never rule the Seven Kingdoms as Queen Regnant."

Selene narrowed her eyes, "You can save that kind of talk for Stannis. I'm sure he would much rather hear it than me."

"Bend the knee, my lady. Bend the knee for peace. If you do not, you will go into exile. You will run for your life. Run from the true king."

Selene straightened in her saddle, "Oh? And how will that happen?"

"I just see what the Lord wishes to show me. What other reason than because Stannis, the Lord's chosen, will win the throne?"

Selene scoffed, "I do not care to listen to your prophecy. If that's all, I will be going."

"You will never bear a child named Stark."

Selene froze and turned in her saddle. "What did you say?"

The priestess's eyes were burning, "You will never bear a child named Stark."

Selene's blood went cold. _Prophecies are never how they_ _sound._ Tyrion had told her that once, when they were reading old prophecies in ancient books in the Red Keep's library. Tyrion had made fun of the people who had taken the prophecies at face value. _What other way could that be interpreted..._

Selene laughed, "Prophecies are fickle things. It sounds like I will never have a child by my husband, but do you know what your god has shown you?"

The priestess was silent.

"Clearly, my children will be named Baratheon," Selene said surely. "The lords of the realm will come together and rule that as my father was king, the royal line should keep the Baratheon name. It's simple."

"I see us speaking at Winterfell."

Selene laughed again, harder this time. "Is that supposed to terrify me? That's my husband's seat."

"So why would I be there?"

Selene's laughter trailed off. What reason would the red priestess have for being in Winterfell? Surely Robb wouldn't invite her.

Selene shrugged, "I don't know, and frankly I don't care. If your intention was to frighten me, then you have failed. Your god is not my god."

"Do not fear, Selene. You will not die tonight," the priestess said. "Your time will come, but you will survive this battle."

"What a relief."

The priestess's eyes flicked down to Selene's belly, and stayed.

Selene's brows furrowed, and she looked down. Her stomach was as flat as it had always been. "Have I stained my tunic?"

The red priestess's smile was sad, "You have no idea, do you?"

The world around her seemed to slow. Selene looked down again, and then back up to the priestess. "How could you know?"

The ruby at her throat throbbed, "My god is the one true god, and he has given me gifts." The red woman looked sad, "I hate to see innocents suffer."

A fury rose in Selene's chest, "You won't have the chance."

Eleni sensed the threat and crouched aggressively at the red woman's horse. The horse shied away in fear.

"Go," Selene commanded. "Run back to Stannis and fill his head with more nonsense."

"Do you really crave power so much that you will be blind to compromise?" the red woman challenged. "You could live out the rest of your days in peace at Winterfell, if only you bend the knee."

Selene didn't reply.

"Look to your sins, Lady Selene. The night is dark and full of terrors."

###

"That was amusing, if not terribly profitable," Renly commented at the war council later that day. "I wonder where I can get a sword like that? Well, doubtless Loras will make me a gift of it after the battle. It grieves me that it must come to this."

"You have a cheerful way of grieving," said Selene, whose distress was not insincere.

"Do I?" Renly shrugged. "So be it. Stannis was never the most cherished of brothers, I confess."

Selene felt very tired. It had all been for nothing. Stannis would rather draw blood than help them face the Lannisters.

Inside the silk pavilion that served as a war chamber, the lords bannermen were waiting to hear word of the parley.

"My Uncle Stannis will not bend," Selene told them as Brienne unfastened her cloak and lifted it from her shoulders. "Castles and courtesies will not appease him, he must have blood."

"Well, I am of a mind to grant his wish," Renly said.

"My queen, I see no need for battle here," Lord Mathis Rowan put in. "The castle is strongly garrisoned and well provisioned, Ser Courtnay Penrose is a seasoned commander, and they can't breach the walls. Let Lord Stannis have his siege. He will find no joy in it, and whilst he sits cold and hungry and profitless, we will take King's Landing."

_Sounds wise,_ Selene thought.

"And have men say we feared facing Stannis?" Renly asked.

"Only fools will say that," Lord Mathis argued.

Selene looked to the others, "What say you all?"

"I say Stannis is a danger to you," Lord Randyll Tarly declared. "Leave him unblooded and he will only grow stronger, while your own power is diminished by battle. The Lannisters will not be beaten in a day. By the time you are done with them, Lord Stannis may be as strong as you are...or stronger."

Others chorused their agreement.

Renly looked pleased, "We shall fight, then."

"My lords," Selene said. "Thank you for your counsel, but I have yet to make my decision."

Renly put a warm hand on her shoulder, "A wise queen knows when to follow the advise of experienced elders."

Ser Barristan snorted.

Selene narrowed her eyes at Renly, "If my lords would leave me to speak with my uncle?"

Renly's face faltered as the southern lords left the tent. When they were gone, Selene knocked Renly's hand from her shoulder.

" _What_ is your game, Renly?"

His eyes widened in shock, "Whatever do you mean?"

"You are not much older than me," Selene reminded him, "and yet you treat me like a child at every turn. I'll remind you that I have seen battle."

"One battle," Renly huffed.

"That's one more than you have," Selene said sharply. "Is that what this is? You want to see blood?"

Renly was silent.

"Well, Uncle, then let us take Lord Rowan's advice and besiege King's Landing. Let Stannis sit here and throw stones at Storm's End."

"No," Renly said. "Storm's End is my seat. I won't leave it in harm's way."

"You're telling me no?"

Renly hesitated, but then he straightened, "Yes, I am. You may be Robert's daughter, and my queen, but the lords here are loyal to me. They don't know you, only what they've heard, and not all of it is pleasant."

Selene was so angry she couldn't speak.

"I want to serve you-"

"It does not sound like it."

Renly sighed, "You are still so young. You have yet to learn the trick of ruling."

"Oh, pray, _do tell._ "

"Power exists only where we think it exists," Renly said. "I think I heard Varys say that once. At first I laughed at him, but now I understand."

Selene was silent for a moment. "Perhaps we should bend the knee."

Renly was taken aback, " _What?_ "

"If we bend, we can combine all our power and live. You would be the Lord of Storm's End, and I the Lady of Winterfell. I don't lust for the throne. I'm tired of warring."

"But what about your duty? To your father? To the realm?"

Selene looked away. She knew she would be a better monarch than Stannis. He was just, but not a man of mercy or compassion. The realm would be better under her rule, and yet...

She did not want to fight Stannis. She did not want the war to drag on. What kind of person would she be if she placed the crown above peace? _Am I truly ambitious? I thought I was claiming the throne out of duty, but I...I want it._ Renly seemed to want the battle more than she did.

"Where do you see yourself, Renly?" Selene asked. "At the end of the war?"

"Where? Why, the Tower of the Hand, of course," Renly's smile flashed. "You can wear the crown and bear the heirs, and I will be content to rule."

"How thoughtful."

"Surely I am the only person suited for the role. Who would you name instead?"

Selene had not given it much thought. _Tyrion,_ she knew instantly. _Clever, compassionate, and wise...he would be the best person for the position._ She looked up at her uncle, knowing she could never say what she wished to say. The dwarf of Lannister would be a better Hand than Renly could ever hope to be.

"Stannis would take Storm's End from you and never let you be Hand," Selene said softly. "You serve me out of ambition, not loyalty."

Renly shrugged his easy shrug, "Who said the two were mutually exclusive? Can a man not be both loyal _and_ ambitious?" He gave her a hard look, "We're going to battle Stannis, we're going to win, and then we go to King's Landing."

_How can a queen be so powerless?_ Selene thought as Renly left the pavilion with an exaggerated swish of his cloak. Renly did always have a flair for the dramatic.

Selene's head was swimming. She supposed she always knew, deep down, that Renly would have some ulterior motive. It didn't make it sting any less.

"Your Grace?" a soft voice called from outside. 

In walked Lady Margaery Tyrell, all soft sweetness.

"What can I do for you, my lady?" Selene asked as she sat in one of the camp chairs.

"I wanted to see how you were faring," Margaery said as she took a chair across from Selene. "You are my niece by marriage, and we've hardly said more than a few words to each other."

Her new aunt was scarce older than herself. "That's kind of you, my lady, but I'm afraid I'm not excellent company at the moment."

"You must be exhausted," Margaery said soothingly. "All the war and battles...we are the fairer sex for a reason. It takes its toll on our gentle hearts."

"I think I can handle it," Selene said, yet her temple throbbed with pain. The red priestess had disturbed her. _Am I with child? Gods, not now. The war is not yet done. I can't bring a child into a realm in flames..._

Margaery took her hand, "If you have any desire for help, all you need do is ask, my queen." She kissed the top of her hand.

_What a sweet girl,_ Selene thought, _Sweeter than honey. So sweet I want to gag. She has not seen the things I have seen. Or she would be running back to Highgarden._

"Thank you," was all Selene said.

Margaery curtsied low and left her alone in the tent.

Selene stood with a sigh, and took her silver crown off of her head. She rubbed her thumb gently over the moonstone. _Jon…_

She had woken from that dream-vision in a pool of sweat, and Ser Barristan told her she had been screaming. _I should have never seen that,_ Selene thought. _I_ _t has brought Jon back into my life._ It seemed wherever she looked, she saw his grey eyes.

Selene placed a hand gently on her stomach.

_I'm not just living for myself anymore. I have more to think of now. I've never known what it was like to have parents who loved each other...my child will grow up in a loving family,_ she swore fiercely.

"Ser Barristan," Selene called.

He was in the tent in a moment, "Yes, Your Grace."

"Please, have someone take this to my tent," Selene handed him her silver crown, "and have them fetch me my winter crown."

Ser Barristan frowned, "Forgive me, Your Grace, but I thought you wanted this one while in the stormlands?"

Selene shook her head, "I did. Not anymore." That crown was Jon, and she was done toying with it.

Ser Barristan bowed and left.

_Robb is the father of my child. I will devote myself to him completely. No more distractions. No more second thoughts. This child and all their brothers and sisters will say their parents loved each other above all, and they will have the right of it._


	30. Blood and Shadow

The candles within Renly's pavilion made the shimmering silken walls glow, transforming the great tent into a magical castle alive with emerald light. Two of Renly's guard stood sentry at the door to the pavilion.

Within, Selene found Brienne armoring Renly for battle while the Lords Tarly and Rowan spoke of dispositions and tactics. Brienne had begged for the honor, and it seemed to Selene that the poor girl was hopelessly in love with Renly.

It was pleasantly warm inside, the heat shimmering off the coals in a dozen small iron braziers.

"I must speak with you, Uncle."

"In a moment, Selene," Renly replied. His armor was a deep green, the green of leaves in a summer wood, so dark it drank the candlelight. Gold highlights gleamed from inlay and fastenings like distant fires in that wood, winking every time he moved. "Pray continue, Lord Mathis."

"My lord," Mathis Rowan continued, "As I was saying, our battles are well drawn up. Why wait for daybreak? Sound the advance."

"And have it said that I won by treachery, with an unchivalrous attack? Dawn was the chosen hour."

_Seven hells,_ Selene thought. _He means to be a general, a commander...to gloriously lead men into battle. He has no idea..._

"Chosen by Stannis," Randyll Tarly pointed out. "He'd have us charge into the teeth of the rising sun. We'll be half-blind."

"Only for the first charge," Renly said confidently. "Ser Loras will break them, and after that it will be chaos. When my brother falls, see no insults are done to his corpse. He is my own blood, I will not have his head paraded on a spear."

"And if he yields?" Lord Tarly asked.

"Yields?" Lord Rowan laughed. "When Mace Tyrell laid siege to Storm's End, Stannis ate rats rather than open his gates."

"Well I remember." Renly lifted his chin to allow Brienne fasten his gorget in place. "Near the end, Ser Gawen Wylde and three of his knights tried to steal out a postern gate to surrender. Stannis caught them and ordered them flung from the walls with catapults. I can still see Gawen's face as they strapped him down. He had been our master-at-arms."

Lord Rowan appeared puzzled, "No men were hurdled from the walls. I would surely remember that."

"Master Cressen told Stannis that we might be forced to eat our dead, and there was no gain in flinging away good meat." Renly pushed back his hair. "Thanks to the Onion Knight we were never reduced to dining on corpses, but it was a close thing. Too close for Ser Gawen, who died in his cell."

"Uncle," Time was growing short. "A word."

Renly nodded, "See to your battlements, my lords."

The lords bowed deeply to Renly, nodded to Selene, and departed.

_They should be bowing deeply to me,_ Selene thought dully.

"Say your say, Your Grace," Renly said. Brienne swept his heavy cloth of gold cloak over his shoulders.

"Why bother with the honors?" Selene asked. "Now that I know who is truly in charge?"

"Formalities do no harm," Renly said, "and at the end of the day, you will be queen. What do you wish to speak of?"

"The battle."

Renly raised a brow at her, "Do you wish to lead the vanguard? Do you crave more bloodshed? Leave this battle to us, Selene. It would be most kind of you to share some of the glory."

"Glory?" Selene repeated incredulously. "No," she said, shaking her head, "the opposite in fact." Selene took a deep breath, "I don't want to fight at all."

Renly walked up to her, his steel clanging as he did so. He placed the back of his hand gently on her forehead and spoke with the upmost concern. "Selene Baratheon...not wanting to fight...are you feeling well, my dear?"

Despite herself, Selene laughed as she knocked away his hand. "I'm fine. More than fine actually…" She looked up at her uncle and smiled, "I think I'm with child."

Renly's eyes widened, and suddenly he whirled her around the tent. "That's joyous news!" he yelled as she giggled. "You and the Young Wolf didn't waste any time," he added as he set her down.

Selene smacked his arm lightly, "Well, I'm not _certain_ yet…" She hadn't even missed a moonblood. All she had was the word of the red woman, but ever since the priestess told her, she swore she felt the truth of it in her bones, "but I don't want to risk it."

Renly beamed, and squeezed her chin affectionately. "Very wise, dear niece."

For a moment, Renly was her uncle again, kind and funny and warm.

A gust of wind flung open the door of the tent. Selene thought she glimpsed movement, but when she turned her head, it was only Renly's shadow shifting against the silken walls. She heard Renly begin a jest, his shadow moving, lifting its sword, black on green, candles shivering, something was wrong, and then she saw Renly's sword still in its scabbard, sheathed, but the shadowsword…

"Cold," said Renly in small puzzled voice, a heartbeat before the steel of his gorget parted beneath the shadow of a blade that was not there. He had time to make a small thick gasp before the blood came gushing out of his throat.

"Uncl— _no!_ " Selene cried when she saw that evil flow, sounding as scared as a little girl. Renly stumbled back into Brienne's arms, a sheet of blood creeping down the front of his armor, a dark red tide that drowned his green and gold. Renly tried to speak, but he was choking on his own blood.

_The shadow._ It walked toward her…but that didn't make any sense. Shadows couldn't walk free. In her haste to get away, Selene fell to her back and scrambled. The shadow still held its sword of black mist.

"No-no-no _-no!_ " Selene pleaded with it. Perhaps the thing could hear her, or feel pity. " _Please_! I'm with child!"

The shadow froze, and Selene looked on its face. It was black mist, swirling and flowing, and yet...it looked like Stannis. But how...

The shadow loomed over her, unmoving.

Suddenly, Eleni was over her body, roaring at the shadow man. From the corner of her eye, Selene saw Ser Barristan burst in to the tent, shouting, but Selene could only stare at the shadowman as he took a step forward, and then another step, raising his sword...

And then the shadows rushed into her eyes, blinding her.

Selene was lost in the blackness.

###

In the darkness, all she could sense was her breathing. It was deep and slow. Breathing. She was alive. But she couldn't see. The amount of effort needed to open her eyes was too great, so she kept them closed. But she could still hear.

"As long as she is breathing, she is our queen," Ser Barristan's gruff voice said.

"She's been like this for days," an older voice said, one she did not recognize. "What if she never wakes?"

"She _will_ wake," Brienne said stubbornly.

A gasp.

"Look at the lioness," Lady Dacey insisted.

Selene wondered what the voices were talking about. A large scratchy tongue began to lick her cheek. _Eleni._

Slowly, Selene let her eyes flutter open. Just in time to see Eleni's tongue descend on her face. She would have laughed if it didn't hurt so much.

"Good girl," Selene croaked. Her hand went to her throat. "Water."

Instantly, a gentle hand was lifting her chin, pouring cool water into her mouth. It felt divine.

"Thank you," Selene said to Brienne. She looked around the room. Ser Barristan, Lady Dacey, and Brienne were there, as well as her father's cousin Lomas Estermont with his son, Ser Andrew, and a few she did not recognize. She did, however, note the heraldry on their surcoats. Quarterd sun and moon for House Tarth, the white horned owl of House Mertyn, and the white quills of House Penrose.

Selene could only stare at them blankly, "Where am I?"

"Just west of Tumbleton, Your Grace. We have been heading toward the Crag, where the King in the North is said to be," Ser Barristan said kindly.

Selene frowned, "We're in the Reach? What about Storm's-" and then her memories hit her like the flat of a sword between the eyes. "Renly!"

The whites of Brienne's eyes were red with grief, "Slain. Through that red woman's dark magic."

Ser Barristan spoke, "I would never believe it if I had not seen the monster for myself."

"I don't understand," Selene said. "Why have we fled?"

The lords and ladies shifted uncomfortably.

It was Dacey who knelt at Selene's bedside. "Your Grace, we all thought you dead."

"Dead?" Selene repeated softly.

"I saw that monster seep into your body. You were as pale as milk, as cold as ice, and you were not breathing," Ser Barristan said forlornly, as if his grief for her was still fresh.

Selene's palm went to her stomach, "Am I healthy?"

It was Lady Brienne who spoke, and Selene remembered that Brienne was the only person in this tent who knew of her pregnancy after hearing her plead for her child's life with the shadow monster. "Yes, Your Grace," Brienne said quickly. "Yesterday, the maesters agreed your strength was returning, and you are in full health."

Selene sighed in relief.

Ser Barristan continued, "When Loras Tyrell saw Lord Renly's body, he went mad with sorrow. The Knight of Flowers took all the strength of the Reach back to Bitterbridge, where the rest of their forces were stationed."

Selene's mouth felt dry, "And the stormlands?" She glanced at the very few lords and ladies left to her.

The Penrose man bent his head, "My name is Ronnel, Your Grace, son and heir of Lord Penrose of the Parchments. My brother, Ser Cortnay, holds Storm's End in Lord Renly's name. House Penrose has chosen to stay loyal to the daughter of good King Robert, and the niece of our beloved Lord Renly."

The man with Tarth heraldry bowed, "Ser Goodwin, Your Grace. Master-at-arms of Evenfall Hall. I am here on behalf of Lord Selwyn Tarth."

The elderly woman in a grey and white dress smiled, "I am dowager Lady Mary Mertyns of Mistwood, and all my sons and grandsons have come with me to support the true queen."

Selene was shocked, "Even in my illness?"

"Even in your illness," her distant cousin Ser Andrew Estermont said with a smile. "The Lady Brienne was convinced you were alive."

All eyes fell to Brienne, "I saw the beast hesitate…and it didn't do to you what it did to Lord Renly."

"The red woman said I would not die that night," Selene remembered. She ran her fingers through her hair. These few lords and ladies of the stormlands were from noble houses, but there were countless others.

"And the other stormlanders?"

The men and women in the tent hesitated again.

Only Lady Mary was blunt enough to speak the truth. "Men of no honor," she said angrily. "They promise themselves to you and their lord, and in your greatest time of need, they abandon you." Lady Mary's eyes bored into her, "And I can tell you why for a certainty, Your Grace. Men don't like taking orders from women. They can barely stand speaking to them. That is why most have declared for Stannis. In the eyes of many, a woman in power goes against nature itself. Men will never willingly bow to the weaker sex."

"And they will suffer greatly for it," Selene said through grit teeth. She knew, she _knew,_ that Lady Mary had spoken true. And Selene felt a fury rise in her chest, stronger than any she had ever known.

Selene rose from the bed. Dimly, she noticed her legs shaking with effort, but her heart was pounding so hard so could scarce feel it. She had spent too long in bed. She was more awake now than she had ever been.

Selene walked passed the men and women in the tent, Eleni by her side, and opened the flaps of the tent. Dawn's light was spilling over the sky and Selene took in the makeshift camps her party had made. Her pavillion was in the center of the camp with rings of tents surrounding her.

She whistled for Thunder, who came trotting. With ease, she swung her leg up and mounted. From her new height, she could see the entirety of her forces. They were five thousand…perhaps seven thousand. Nothing compared to the hundred thousand Renly had promised her. _Renly…_

Her grief had taken a new form. It was not sadness she felt…it was _rage._ Rage at Stannis for murdering Renly, and for costing her the Reach and half the stormlands. Rage at the stormlords who had turned to a false king rather than the rightful queen. _And all because I am of the weaker sex…_ Selene's hands tightened around Thunder's reigns. _I dare any man to say that to my face._

" _Sons of the stormlands!"_ Selene yelled over the quiet fields. Slowly, men began to pour out of their tents. When they saw her, they turned to each other and began to whisper. Selene trotted around her pavilion, making sure to be seen on all sides. The men and women in her tent had followed her out, and Selene saw Ser Barristan stare at her oddly.

"My name is Selene of House Baratheon, and I see a whole army of my countrymen, here in defiance of oathbreakers and usurpers. You have come willingly to fight as honorable men, and honorable men you are. What will you do with that honor? Will you fight for your rightful queen? For justice and freedom?" Selene spurred Thunder forward through the ranks.

Mixed voices cried out. It was impossible for Selene to discern what they were saying, but one thing was clear. It seemed these men were divided. They had followed their lords, but they were leaving their homes and going north for a queen few of them had ever seen.

One voice rung out, "We will run! And we will live!"

Thunder slowed to a walk and Selene turned to the voice, "Yes, fight and you may die. Run, and you'll live. At least for a while. Until they come for you, the way they came for my father King Robert and my uncle Lord Renly."

The voices quieted.

"Soon, we will meet our enemies. I am resolved in the midst and heat of the war, to live or die amongst you all!"

Men's cheers filled the air.

"While we stand together, no enemy shall prevail! Let them come with the armies of seven hells! _They will not prevail!"_

The roars got louder.

Selene trotted to the front of her tent, where the most men could see her at once. "And when this war is over, we meet again in the Father's golden hall. Or on the field…of _victory_!"

The roars were deafening.

" _Long live the Queen!"_

_"Queen Selene!"_

_"Winter's Fury!"_

"We will show the Lannisters why they should fear the oncoming storm. We will avenge my father and uncle and bring justice to the traitor Stannis, who has committed fratricide, an affront to all the gods. Let us tell our enemies that we fear neither them, nor their armies! We are the _stormlands!_ We have a storm in us that will strip the realm bare if they dare to try us!"

As the cheers rolled over the fields like thunder, the sun began to rise in earnest, casting the world in golden light. And Selene knew that for all her troubles and grief, for all the resistance she had faced, the gods were with her.

"Today, I share my words with you all! _Ours is the fury!"_

Eleni's tail whipped back and forth dangerously, her teeth bared, her roar starting low in her belly. As the truest men of the stormlands found their words, the lioness joined her roar with theirs.

"OURS IS THE FURY!"

"OURS IS THE FURY!"

_"OURS IS THE FURY!"_


	31. The Fortunes of War

The Crag was more ruin than castle.

The Westerlings were an ancient and proud house descended from the First Men of the Age of Heroes. They used to wed Kings of the Rock before Aegon the Conqueror came and took the crown from the Lannisters of old.

But the Westerling's fortunes had faltered over the years, with lands and mines being sold until this proud house was reduced to little wealth and influence. They scarcely had the funds to maintain the castle, which was why the stone walls of the Crag were crumbling before Selene's eyes. She remembered something her grandfather Tywin had said years ago in passing. _The Westerlings have more pride than power._

Which was probably why the Lady of the Crag, Sybell Westerling, saw fit to interrupt Selene as she spoke to Smalljon Umber.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, my queen," Smalljon said with a smile. Despite his name, Smalljon was as tall as his father. While the Greatjon was capturing the gold mines at Castamere, the Smalljon had scaled the walls of the Crag to secure another victory for Robb. "I'm afraid the king has been wounded."

"I've heard." When a scout came to meet Selene's host, he had reported Robb's injury. It was an arrow to the arm, a surface wound, and Robb would survive. _Good,_ Selene had thought fiercely. _T_ _he gods have taken too many from me. I will be damned before they take Robb._ "Take me to him."

"I would be honored to show Her Grace the way to her lord husband," Lady Sybell Westerling interrupted sweetly. The woman was handsome, and Selene could see she was a great beauty in her younger years.

Selene narrowed her eyes at the woman sworn to the Lannisters. "Thank you, my lady."

As Sybell nodded and turned to lead the way, Selene cast a sidelong look at Ser Barristan at the lady's eagerness to please. As her small Queensguard followed her, Selene decided to let the Lady Westerling know she wasn't fooled.

"Lady Sybell Westerling... You were a Spicer before your marriage, weren't you?"

"Your Grace is knowledgeable of my heritage."

"My grandfather once told me that it is a fool who doesn't know his domain. I was born a princess of the realm. It's my duty to know of every house, great or small. Tell me, is your husband still imprisoned at Seaguard? After his capture at the Battle of the Whispering Wood?"

Sybell was silent.

"Your father was a wealthy merchant, elevated to lord by my great-grandfather Tytos Lannister. Your grandmother is called Maggy the Frog, a fortune teller in Lannispo-" Selene froze where she stood.

"Your Grace?" Ser Barristan asked curiously.

Selene's mind was racing. _My mother's prophecy...all those moons ago._ She had nearly forgotten the time her mother had drunkenly whispered something about a prophecy. Something about her. _A moon in wolfskin…a silver reflection._ Meaningless…unless...

Unless Selene could speak to the source.

"Send for your grandmother Maggy the Frog," Selene ordered. "Now." _Perhaps Maggy was the one who gave Cersei the prophecy._ As far as Selene knew, Maggy was the only fortune teller in Lannisport, just a mile south of Casterly Rock. It was a long shot, but maybe…

Lady Sybell frowned, "I don't understandant."

Selene's patience, with the woman, with the world, was growing dangerously thin. "I did not command you to understand."

Eleni padded forward, snarling.

Lady Westerling grew pale, "A-As my queen commands."

"And be quick about it," Selene added for good measure, starting their journey back again toward Robb.

At a great door, Sybell paused. "Let me just see if His Grace is awake." She opened the door an inch, peered inside, and shut it. "The king is still asleep. The maesters have stressed that we should leave him be and let him rest."

Selene frowned, "I would see him now." She made a move to open the door.

Sybell Westerling, Lady of the Crag, barred Selene's entry with her body, "My queen, the maesters-"

But Selene didn't hear what the Lady was going to say. Because at that moment, Selene threw the heel of her hand forward around Sybell's throat, and pressed her body against the door. The Lady's eyes widened as the breath was choked out of her.

As Sybell struggled feebly against her iron grip, Selene leaned close and whispered, "Are you defying my command?"

Sybell tried to respond, but Selene only squeezed harder. The lady squeaked.

Selene's lip curled, "I have fought demons and monsters to come back to my husband. And if you think _you_ can delay me one second further-"

"Your Grace," Ser Barristan interrupted. "You're hurting the lady."

Selene drew her hand back. The woman collapsed to her knees, grabbing at her neck and coughing for air. Selene's eyes stayed on the door.

Without a word, Selene pushed it open.

Robb was asleep and bare-chested, with Grey Wind curled at the foot of the bed. At Selene's entry, the wolf lifted his head and began to wag his tail. Selene smiled for the first time in weeks. That smile died when Selene saw the pretty girl with chestnut curls dressing Robb's arm with bandages. When the girl noticed Selene, she stood up quickly and curtsied.

"Your Grace," the girl squeaked, staring at Selene's feet.

"Who are you?"

"Jeyne Westerling, Your Grace."

"Why are you alone with my husband?" Selene said slowly, taking a step forward with every word.

As Selene stepped closer, Jeyne stepped back in fear, "I-I was nursing the king back to health."

"Are you a maester?"

"No...no, my queen-"

"Then _why_ are you alone with my husband?"

Eleni padded toward the girl.

Jeyne straightened, whimpering at the lioness. "Please...Your Grace…"

"Was this your mother's idea?" Selene asked softly. "Place you in Robb's path in the hope he would choose you over his wife?" With each word, Selene's voice grew louder, until she was shouting.

Sybell rushed past Selene and Eleni to her daughter's side. "Please, mercy, Your Grace…my daughter is innocent-"

"And you are not?"

Sybell swallowed, "I only meant to-"

"I _k_ _now_ what you meant, my lady," Selene nearly laughed. "Therein lies the problem."

Eleni's bared her fangs, her tail whipped back and forth dangerously, and her ears twitched. Selene knew Eleni was feeding off her anger. Mother and daughter both shook with fear. This was a moment Selene was used to. Calling off Eleni before she could attack. But Selene didn't want to this time. Her enemies were all out of reach. Joffrey, Cersei, Tywin, and Stannis. Untouchable. But there were two enemies before her now.

Selene whistled.

Eleni sprang forward and knocked the two women to the floor. Sybell and Jeyne screamed.

"Your Grace!" Ser Barristan cried out in horror.

Selene didn't move. She stood there and watched as Eleni raked her claws over Lady Sybell's arms, blood springing from the gashes. Impossibly, Jeyne screamed even louder.

Only one voice was able to cut through to her.

"Selene!" Robb bellowed.

Eleni hesitated.

Selene blinked. She turned to Robb. He was sitting upright in the bed, arm bandaged. He looked horrified.

Selene found her voice, "Eleni, to me."

The lioness leapt to her side, her paws red with blood.

Selene looked down on the two women and felt a wave of horror.

_Gods, what have I done?_

"Ser Barristan, Brienne, could you please escort the ladies to the maester?" Selene asked in a shaky voice.

Ser Barristan and Brienne nodded, and led the half-crazed mother and daughter out of the room. Grey Wind hopped from the bed to Eleni's side, and the two beasts nuzzled each other before curling up by the hearth.

Selene looked at Robb. All she wanted to do was rush into his arms, but his look of apprehension kept her rooted where she stood.

"Did you set Eleni on Lady Westerling and her daughter?" Robb asked, incredulous.

The truth wouldn't come out. _Yes, I did. And I meant to. I'm worse than Joffrey._

Selene nodded slowly.

" _Why?"_ Robb asked.

Selene bit her lip, "Everything has fallen apart." With Robb, she didn't have to be strong. She didn't have to be a queen. With him, she could be Selene, the frightened girl who had lost too much.

She rushed to his side and buried her face in the crook of his arm, "Renly was murdered. Right in front of me. Slain by Stannis and the monster his witch conjured." Her breathing was sharp, breaking her words, "And it-it did something to me."

Robb scanned over her quickly, "Are you hurt?"

"The shadow monster…I don't know…went _inside_ me…and I was dead, or looked dead..."

Robb looked alarmed, "Are you alright?"

Selene shook her head, "I promised you the south. I came with only seven thousand. Loyal men, good men, but not enough."

"Selene…" Robb said soothingly, but she wasn't done.

"None of this should be happening. Our fathers should still be alive. We should be in Winterfell, safe. _None of this is right._ " She dissolved in his arms.

Despite his injury, the arms that held her were strong and sure. "I'm sorry about your uncle. About everything. I wish we could run away from all this."

Selene brightened, "Let's."

Robb laughed. "You don't mean that."

Selene's shoulders drooped, "I know."

"We belong here. Leading our people. Fighting for justice." He tilted her chin up. "I've missed you sorely."

She smiled, "And I, you." She kissed him. When she grabbed at his shoulder, he winced.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Robb nodded, rolling his shoulder with only a light grimace, "I'll be fine. Just a twinge now."

"Did it hurt?"

"Like seven hells."

Selene laughed.

Robb paused, "This shadow monster…do you think it did any lasting damage? To you?"

Selene frowned, "I feel fine now."

"The Selene I know would never set a lion on her fallen enemies."

_Maybe it was the shadow. Maybe it's making me angrier. Aggressive._ "I don't know, Robb. I want to blame something else, some dark force, but...it was me. I took out my rage on the wrong people." She looked up at him, "The war is changing me."

Robb caressed her face with his hand. "The war is almost over."

"How can you say that?"

"The westerlands are on fire. Tywin has left Harrenhal and is marching west, and Edmure will shelter the common folk and hold Riverrun. And where do you think Stannis will be heading?"

"King's Landing," Selene said without hesitation.

Robb smiled, and it was as bright as the sun, "Don't you see? This couldn't be better for us. We'll distract Tywin and most of his forces while Stannis takes King's Landing and defeats Cersei and Joffrey."

_And Tyrion,_ Selene thought worriedly.

"The Lannisters will be defeated," Robb said happily, "and then all we need to worry about is-"

"Stannis," Selene finished unhappily. "Stannis and his witch who can murder people with shadows. Robb, when I was parleying with Stannis he named you traitor and threatened your life. "

Robb scoffed, "He's welcome to come take it."

"Robb," Selene said earnestly, "Renly was murdered before my very eyes. With _sorcery._ Stannis' threats aren't to be taken lightly."

"When the time comes, we will deal with him, my love. I promise." He pressed his forehead lightly to hers.

Despite everything, she couldn't help the smile that rose to her lips.

_Now is the right time_ _to tell him of our baby._

There was frantic knocking at the door.

"Your Grace!" Robb's squire, a Glover boy, yelled from the other side of the door. "Urgent news from Winterfell!"

Robb frowned and turned to Selene, who shrugged.

"Enter."

Roose Bolton entered the chamber.

Selene drew back in surprise. She had thought Bolton was in the riverlands.

"Well met, Lord Bolton," Selene said cordially. The quiet, pale-eyed Lord of the Dreadfort was a wise and cautious man, and amongst rash, and battle-hungry lords, a man of his like was a most welcome presence to Selene.

"Your Grace," the lord said politely, with a curt nod. He held up a letter between two fingers. "There's word from the north."

Robb took it, frowning. His frown deepened as he read, and his legs faltered beneath him.

"Robb!" Selene cried out as she went to steady him. She led him to a chair and sat him down.

Robb was as pale as death. His eyes flicked to Lord Bolton. "This cannot be true." His voice was thick with pain.

Selene strained her neck to glimpse the paper. Her eyes scanned the words quickly. And then she read them again. And again. They didn't make any sense. _Ironmen at our shores. Winterfell lost. The Stark boys…_

"We've had ravens from White Harbor, Barrowtown, and the Dreadfort," Roose Bolton said, his arms crossed in front of him. "I'm afraid it is true."

Selene began to pace.

Eleni and Grey Wind's heads rose in interest.

"Why…" Robb mumbled softly, " _Why_ would Theon-"

"Because the Greyjoys are treasonous whores," Selene answered, remembering all the war stories her father and the Kingsguard would tell her of Balon's Rebellion.

"My brothers-"

"They tried to escape, but were taken at a mill on the Acorn Water. Theon Greyjoy has mounted their heads on the walls of Winterfell."

Selene's breath hitched in her throat. Bran was only a boy, and Rickon scarcely older than a babe. Her brothers, by all the laws of marriage. Dead. And by _Theon's_ hand. Rage rose in her chest, and for a moment, she wanted to turn to Robb and scream. _I warned you, my love. Back when you refused to heed my counsel. And look what has happened._ But one look at Robb's grief-stricken face, and Selene knew she could never be that cruel. Not to him.

Robb's hands were shaking, "Does my mother know?"

Bolton nodded, "Word has reached Riverrun, yes."

Robb's jaw set, "I must go north at once." He stood so quickly that he knocked his chair back.

Grey Wind hopped to his feet.

"There's still a war to win, Your Grace," Bolton protested.

Robb walked right up to Roose's face, "How can I call myself king if I can't hold my own castle?" he yelled, tears in his eyes and veins pulsing in his face. "How can I ask men to follow me if I can't-"

"You _are_ a king!" Bolton interrupted, "and that means you don't have to do everything yourself."

"Let me go and deal with Theon," Selene pleaded.

"There is no need for the queen to endanger her life," Bolton reasoned. "Theon holds Winterfell with a skeleton crew. Let me send word to my bastard at the Dreadfort. He can raise a few hundred men and retake Winterfell before the new moon."

Robb's eyes flicked back and forth in deep thought.

Selene saw the wisdom in Bolton's plan. "We have the Lannisters on the run," she reminded Robb. "If we march all the way back north now, we lose what we've gained."

Bolton nodded. "My boy would be honored to bring you Theon's head."

"Theon…" Robb's lip curled in disgust and rage. "I want him brought to me alive." His voice was soft, which was more frightening to Selene than if he had been screaming. "I want to look him in the eye and ask him why. And then I'll take his head myself."

"I'll see to it at once, Your Grace," Bolton said with a deep bow. He took his leave.

Once Bolton left, Robb's hard mask began to crumble. His face reddened as he bit his lip and his jaw shook as he fought his sobs. He looked at Selene, the whites of his eyes turning red, and whimpered, "Selene?"

She threw her arms around him as he sobbed into her shoulder. She sat them on the edge of the bed and held her husband as he grieved. She had never seen her father sob, but she wondered if she would have felt the same as she did now. Unbearable pain. And fear. If a man she saw as invincible could be this vulnerable, then what hope did they have?

_Robb has won every battle, but he has lost so much._ Ironborn invading the north, Winterfell taken, and Bran and Rickon…

Grey Wind began to howl weakly.

###

Selene woke as dawn's light spilled into the chambers that were serving as their own while at the Crag. She was careful not to move, so as not to wake Robb. They had fallen asleep last night, naked and in each other's arms. She comforted him a few times before they went to bed. Asleep, his face seemed smooth and free of the worry lines. His eyes, even closed, were still swollen from last night.

_The father of my child,_ Selene thought proudly as she tucked an auburn curl carefully behind his ear. _I want to tell him._

She had been tempted to tell him of her pregnancy last night, but the severity of his mourning kept the truth at bay. As much as she wanted to share the good news, he needed time to feel his grief.

_Maybe now…_

Perhaps Robb could hear her thoughts, because he began to stir. Before his eyes could open, she kissed his lips. He smiled as he opened his eyes, his grip tightening around her waist. He took in her face, and the mane of black waves and curls that fell lazily around her.

"I've missed waking up to you," Robb said in a groggy voice she had grown to adore. "I've missed your face, your eyes, your hair…" He wrapped a curl around his finger with a smile.

Selene brushed her nose against his, "You'll never have to miss me again. No more separating."

"No more separating," Robb agreed.

Selene saw his brows draw together, and spoke quickly before he could get lost in his grief again.

"Tell me of your father."

"What?"

"My father loved me as much as he could," Selene told him, "but fatherhood didn't come naturally to him. Tell me what it was like to have Ned Stark as a father."

Robb smiled at his father's memory. "He was the best man I ever knew. I know all children think that of their fathers, but-"

"Children do not always think that of their fathers," Selene told him, thinking of Tyrion and Tywin.

Robb looked thoughtful. He pulled her closer to him and kissed her forehead. Selene rested her face on his chest, and felt his heart pound steadily as he continued.

"Father was stern when he needed to be…and kind every time else. He loved us all more than anything. He once told me being a lord is like being a father. Except you have thousands of children and you worry about all of them. The farmers plowing fields are yours to protect. The child scrubbing the floors, yours to protect. The soldiers you order into battle… He told me he woke with fear in the morning, and went to bed with fear in the night. I didn't believe him. I asked him, _How can a man be brave is he's afraid? That is the only time a man can be brave,_ he told me."

"He treated me like his own daughter in King's Landing," Selene said, smiling. "He looked after me, and told me I was his good daughter, in every way but name. He was a good man. And a good father." She lifted her chin to look Robb in the eyes. "You have a lot to live up to."

"Yes," Robb said without hesitation, nodding, "In time-" Suddenly, his nods stopped. His brows drew up in disbelief, and he turned his gaze toward her.

When she didn't explain, he slid his hand gently around her cheek, "Are you certain?" he asked softly, as if worried if he spoke too loudly, he would hurt her.

Selene had been inspected by a maester on the way to the Crag, and had missed a moonblood. It seemed the red woman saw true. "Yes," she mumbled. His gaze was hard and for a moment, she was worried, "Are you happy?"

"Happy?" he repeated, incredulously, as if she was insane to doubt it. "You are my _wife_ , my love, my heart made flesh…"

Selene grinned, "And I have our little boy or girl inside me."

"Maybe one of each?" Robb said hopefully.

Selene laughed, "Don't get greedy."

Robb laughed with her. Soon he was kissing her. He rolled on top, hands roaming her body. When one reached her lower stomach, he looked down and smiled.

Selene rolled her eyes, "You can't see anything yet." She hesitated, "Wait, can you?" She craned her neck to get a look. Her belly seemed as flat as ever.

Robb laughed, "I know, I know."

He leaned forward and kissed her again, and she kissed him back with more fervor than before, her hands running slowly up into his hair and down over his broad shoulders, and along his strong arms and around to his toned back.

Selene kissed his throat, rolling her hips against his. This set off a moan that was music to her ears. Robb was quite an instrument to play, so finely tuned, and if she touched him right, he made the most glorious sounds - raw, intense, and delicious. He grabbed at her hair, the hair he loved so much, and pulled her closer.

The sharp pain Selene had once endured was a distant memory, and nothing, absolutely nothing in this world, felt as good as this. As Robb.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._


	32. The Woods Witch

_Capital on fire. A riot. People crying out for their true queen. The golden princess has gone to the sun, safe. Been hearing mixed reports from the stormlands. The stag will be on the march soon. Awaiting orders. Long live the queen. All my love, The Smtih._

Selene held Tyrion Lannister's letter in her hands, reading the words over and over again.

_Myrcella..._ It hurt Selene to think of her poor sister, shipped off to Dorne at such a young age. She thought of the young girl who crawled into her bed whenever she was plagued with bad dreams. _Myrcella is just a child…no older_ _than ten,_ but at least Tyrion was able to get her out of the capital before the fighting.

_The battle._ Her two greatest threats were about to do battle, and any outcome would both benefit and cost her. If the Lannisters fell, her mother and brother would be killed and Tywin would have no reason to continue warring in the riverlands, but that would mean Tyrion dead and Stannis on the throne with his witch priestess. No doubt, after taking King's Landing, Stannis would look toward the last rival claimant for his throne _._ If Stannis fell, Renly would be avenged, Tyrion safe from harm, and she and Robb would be spared from blood magic, but it also meant the deaths of thousands of stormlanders and the survival of Joffrey and Cersei.

Selene put her elbows on the table and her head in her hands.

Robb walked into their chambers, weary from readying the host to move east to Riverrun.

"How fare my ladies?" he asked, with a swift kiss to her temple.

Selene smiled. Robb was convinced their child was a girl, and had taken to addressing her in Selene's womb. To cope with the grief of losing his brothers, Robb was focusing on his child.

Selene sighed, "...and I have the opportunity to change the tides," she said after explaining the complexities of the situation to Robb. "The Hand of the King is mine. I could get him to open the gates so Stannis could take King's Landing unopposed, but Stannis is too proud to spare Tyrion's life." Selene shook her head, "Even if the Lannisters fall, I'll have another enemy on the throne. At first I thought Stannis would be less dangerous, he doesn't have the love of the realm or a large army. But after what I saw in the stormlands…" she shivered. "Stannis may even be more dangerous than Tywin."

Robb frowned as he listened. He did that when he was deep in thought. "What if there was no winner?"

"What?"

"What if King's Landing fell to Stannis? For their crimes, he kills Joffrey and Cersei-"

"-and Tyrion."

"Tyrion abandons the city before it falls. We can protect him."

Selene frowned, "There's still a madman with a demon woman on the throne."

"Someone Tyrion trusts can kill Stannis and his priestess. Poison, perhaps?"

Selene's eyes widened, "The Tears of Lys!"

Robb's head tilted his head in confusion, "I'm sorry, what?"

"The poison that was used to kill Jon Arryn. It's undetectable. It could work. Perhaps Varys…" Selene's mind was whirling. _Trust Varys? Not sure if that's wise, but he did have that scrap of paper about Jon. He could have easily revealed it to Mother and ruined my reputation, but he didn't. Perhaps, perhaps._

Selene shot from her chair and gave Robb a kiss. "I'll write back to Tyrion." _And instead of signing it from the Maiden, I'll sign it from the Mother. Tyrion will understand._ "Thank you, my dear."

Robb shrugged with an easy smile, "Don't mention it." He pointed at himself. "Never lost a battle, remember?"

Selene laughed, "My, my, my, be careful there. If your head gets any larger you won't be able to stand upright."

Robb laughed. His eyes grew serious as he glanced down at the parchment he was holding.

"Word from Riverrun?" Selene asked.

"My mother... I know she's trying to be strong for me, but she's broken, Selene. First my father, now Bran and Rickon. Arya hasn't been seen in months, and Sansa is a hostage." Robb chewed his lip, the way Selene had seen Arya chew hers in King's Landing. "I don't know how to cheer her."

"Perhaps _our_ news?" 

Robb smiled, "That should help. A bit, at least."

An idea struck her. _Catelyn is stuck in Riverrun with her ill father and her headstrong brother. No one who understands a mother's love or a woman's heart. Perhaps feminine company could help her._ She tried to think of someone she could send.

Selene smiled, "I think I have an idea."

###

"But...Your Grace," Brienne was struggling to find the right words. "I belong by your side. Being your shield and your strength."

"Someone needs your strength more than me," Selene said. "The Queensguard are sworn to protect the queen and her family. Catelyn Stark is my mother by marriage, and I would have you serve her for a while."

Brienne pressed her lips together. Robb had reacted much the same, but he was willing, if Selene believed it would help Catelyn in her grief.

Selene smiled, "Speak freely, Brienne."

"I don't see the reason."

"My good mother is suffering a great deal. I believe you could lift her spirits."

"Lift her spirits?" Brienne repeated, truly confused now. "I'm not well-versed in any art that could bring the lady joy."

"Ah, you're wrong there," Selene said, looking at Brienne's big blue eyes. _So much like Sansa's. So trusting and innocent._ The girl was only a few years older than Selene herself, and despite everything she endured, she was still kind. "Brienne I believe your presence will give Catelyn much comfort. Seeing someone as honorable as you...I think she would enjoy your company." _Catelyn is the Mother made flesh. She needs someone to care for. Brienne has never known her own mother, and Catelyn will grow to care for the girl._

The tall girl nodded, but her eyes were still cloudy.

Selene walked over the Brienne, and had to lift her chin to keep eye contact with her. Brienne was taller than Renly had been. Her cerulean eyes were sad.

"This is no punishment, Brienne, believe me. I hope you take this how I intend it. An honor that shows how greatly I value and admire you."

Brienne stood a little taller. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"It will only be for a short while, until Robb and I join you at Riverrun. Serve the Lady Catelyn in all things, Brienne."

Brienne's face was steel, "I will not fail you, Your Grace."

Selene smiled, "You would be the last person to do so."

As she left, Ser Barristan entered.

"Your Grace," he said with a nod.

Selene swallowed. Ever since she set Eleni on the Lady Westerling and Jeyne, she had been filled with shame, and Ser Barristan reminded her of that shame. She still remembered his look of horror, and hated to imagine disgracing him. Knights were meant to protect the weak, and Selene had placed him in a dishonorable position. The thought of that saddened her more deeply than she could put into words.

But she had to try.

Selene walked up to him, took his lined hands in her own, and kissed them. When she looked back up at him, she saw the surprise in his eyes. "My dearest friend." Tears of shame filled her eyes, but she willed them away. "I apologize for the shame I have brought on you."

Ser Barristan straightened, as if to instinctually rise to her own defense and contradict her, but no words came.

_I knew it._

"If you wish to leave my service, I will allow it. If you don't believe me fit to serve, then I won't demand service of you. Not from you."

"Leave your service?" Ser Barristan repeated, stunned.

"It would pain me more than anything to see you go, my white knight, but I will not fault you for it. I did something wicked and by doing so soiled the honor you hold so dear."

"I will not lie," Ser Barristan admitted with a sigh. "The thought did occur to me, but not for the reasons you give." He sat her down.

Selene frowned.

"For years, as the Mad King tortured men and burned people alive, I would stand by and watch, because I was a member of the Kingsguard and it was my duty." He shook his head in shame, infinitely tired, infinitely weary. "Every night since then, I have regretted standing by my king as he acted cruelly, and yet when you set your lion on two helpless women, I did not move." He looked away, ashamed. "What does that say of me?"

Selene brushed a tear away. "You are one of the best men I have ever known, Ser Barristan. You must not blame yourself for my deeds. Or Aerys'. If I remind you of the Mad King, then I must not be fit to sit the throne."

Ser Barristan's head snapped up. "You are _not_ the Mad King, my queen. You could never be him. Your actions now prove it to me. The Mad King would never apologize, never offer me a chance to honorably leave his service if I wished." He leaned forward and took her hands in his. "You are just a child, a grieving child who has seen more blood, death, and evil in the past year than most men see in their lifetime. You are not to blame."

Robb wanted to blame her actions on dark magic. Ser Barristan was trying to put the blame on her trauma. Either way, it was her lips that whistled the order. It was her who didn't move to stop Eleni. _If I do not take responsibility for my actions, I will continue to do them._

"It was me," Selene insisted, "but I swear to you, ser, that is the last cruel deed you will ever see from me. I swear to you, and may the gods hear me, I will only be brave and harsh to my true enemies. If I ever break that vow, leave my service."

Ser Barristan smiled, "I don't think you will." He bowed his head deeply. "My queen."

Selene smiled back, happy to have her white knight returned to her.

"And Your Grace," Ser Barristan spoke from the doorway, "that fortune teller you sent for has arrived."

Selene's heart began to beat faster in fear. "That was a quick journey."

"I believe after your show with Eleni, you frightened the Lady Westerling so much she did not dare keep you waiting a second more than possible."

###

"I don't understand why you summoned her in the first place," Robb said stubbornly as Selene stared at the door to the room which held the wood witch.

"I've already told you why. This woman knows my mother's prophecy, and _I_ am a part of it. I need to hear for myself."

"Will you ask about our future?" Robb said softly.

"I can't say I'm not tempted."

"Don't," Robb said sternly. "Prophecy is like a half-trained mule. It looks as though it might be useful, but the moment you trust in it, it kicks you in the head."

Selene looked at him, surprised, "You almost sound like Tyrion."

"No one knows the future. It will only drive you mad."

Her eyes softened, "I'll remember your advice."

Robb slid his hand behind her neck and kissed her firmly on the mouth. When he ended the kiss, he placed his forehead on hers, "Be careful."

Selene stepped cautiously into the room. There was a great fire roaring in the hearth and a short woman standing before it, staring into the flames so Selene could only see her back. The cloak she had around her shoulders was falling apart.

As Selene entered, the woman turned, and she had to fight a gasp.

Maggy was squat and warty, with yellow eyes crusted all about with something vile. It was said that she used to be beautiful, until age and evil had left their marks on her. Although her clothes looked clean, Selene could smell sickness on her, and it took all her will not to retch.

When her yellow eyes saw Selene, she spat at her feet.

"Begone, willful child," Maggy told her, in a croaking whisper, her breath strange and strong and foul. "I have already given you your foretelling."

Selene frowned, "No, you haven't."

Maggy peered closer, crust crinkling in her eyes so loudly Selene could hear it from where she stood. "Black instead of gold, the sea instead of the wood, but…" The witch smiled, revealing she had absolutely no teeth. "You must be the one they share."

Selene had no idea what the witch was talking about, but decided to carry on, "Please, my lady," Maggy the Frog was a hundred things, but she was no lady. Selene decided to be as kind as she could to this strange woman. "I have heard you can see into the morrow. I was wondering if you have seen the future of my mother, Queen Cersei, years ago in Lannisport?"

"Begone," croaked the old woman, a second time.

"I'll pay. What is your price?"

"Blood."

"Who's?" Selene asked.

Maggy revealed her gums, "Clever girl. Yours. A taste."

Selene steeled. "Then I'll pay."

Maggy the Frog pulled her robe about her shoulders and beckoned Selene closer. "Come, if you will. Fool. Come, yes. I must taste your blood."

Selene stepped forward. A storm does not fear a frog, no matter how old and ugly she might be. Something told her she should have left and forgotten the entire thing, but instead she took the dagger Maggy offered her, and ran the twisted iron blade across the ball of her thumb.

In the red glow of the hearth, the blood seemed more black than red.

Maggy's toothless mouth trembled at the sight of it. "Here," she whispered. "Give it here."

When Selene offered her hand, Maggy sucked away the blood with gums as soft as a newborn babe's. Her mouth was queer and cold, but Selene did not flinch.

"Ah, your mother…" Maggy said, as if the blood had reawakened her memories. "Such an insolent child."

"Tell me what you told her."

Maggy's eyes narrowed, "Why should I tell you?"

"I paid the price!" Selene said indignantly.

"To know your own future, not hers," Maggy purred. "Would you like to?"

_My future..._ "Perhaps, but my mother's first. Ask something of me. If it is within my power, I will grant it to you."

"I ask for my granddaughter not to be savaged by a lion."

Selene swallowed, "She received some cuts on her arm, nothing more. Besides, I have apologized to her." _Sybell wouldn't meet my eyes, though._

Maggy scoffed, "Seems sufficient."

They were getting nowhere quickly. She wanted to threaten the witch. To call Eleni or brandish her sword, but she took a deep breath. _I have to be like Tyrion. Words, not weapons, will win this battle._

"Are there any ingredients you need, for your potions or spells, that are rare, faraway, or expensive?"

The wood witch paled, which looked strange with her green tinted skin.

Selene smiled, "Tell me my mother's fortunes, and when I sit the throne, you will have what you wish."

"Anything?" The witch asked eagerly, in a way that made Selene's skin crawl.

"Anything, I swear it."

Maggy grinned, "As you will. Three questions your mother asked: when she will wed the prince, if she would be queen, and how many children she would have."

Selene nodded. That sounded like her mother.

"And what did you say?"

"She would never wed the prince, she would wed the king."

_Tywin had his eyes set on Prince Rhaegar for Cersei,_ Selene knew, not exactly remembering where she heard this. _But she wed my father, after he was crowned._ Selene swallowed. One of Maggy's prophecies turned out to be true. _Does she truly have the gift?_

"And then you told her she would be queen." Selene said.

"Queen she would be…until there came another, younger and more beautiful, to cast her down and take all that she holds dear."

Selene was taken aback, "I'm sure my mother did not take kindly to that."

"She threatened the future queen's life with her brother's blade." Maggy croaked and shook her shoulders. It took Selene a moment to realize Maggy was laughing. Whether she was laughing at young Cersei or Selene, she could not be sure.

_Younger, more beautiful, to cast you down. Could that be me? Surely not._ Selene remembered Lori saying she would outshine her mother one day, but that was talk amongst friends. Selene _was_ the Queen in the North, but what could she take that was dear to Cersei, besides her throne, her children, and her life.

_Oh._

"And the last answer?"

"The king will have seven-and ten children, while she will bear four. They will share only one. A silver reflection, a moon cloaked in wolfskin, beloved of the _valonquar,_ and she will know betrayal."

_My father's bastards,_ Selene thought dully. Maggy had correctly predicted Selene's own birth, the only child of Robert and Cersei. _A silver reflection._ Tyrion nearly said those words exactly to Selene years ago. Many said she looked like Cersei, silver coloring to her mother's gold. _A moon cloaked in wolfskin._ Selene mouth went dry. Years ago, in Lannisport, her mother had visited this witch, who correctly predicted her name and her marriage to Robb.

Selene feared the witch, but could not show it.

"What is a _valonquar_?"

"Is that one of your three questions?"

"No," Selene said quickly, wanting to save the three questions about her own future on things more important.

"Is that all you told her?"

The witch slowly looked up at her, eyes as hard as stone. Her voice came out in a terrifying whisper, "Gold shall be her children's crowns and gold their shrouds, and when her tears have drowned her, the _valonquar_ shall wrap his hands about her pale white throat and choke the life from her."

_Our shrouds…Tommen and Myrcella._ "My siblings will die?"

The woman raised a brow, hinting that question would count for her own.

Selene sighed, "Thank you for telling me all of this. Come to court for whatever you desire once I sit my father's throne." Selene walked back to the door, mind whirling as she tried to decipher her mother's prophecy, eager to get away from this witch and her fortunes.

"Don't you want a glimpse into your own morrow?" Maggy called after her. "I've tasted your life's blood. I can see it clear as day."

Selene froze in front of the door, staring hard at it. "My uncle Tyrion once told me that everyone wishes to know their future, until they know their future."

Maggy cackled, "A wise man...shame what will happen to him." _She mocks me. She hasn't tasted Tyrion's blood. How could she know his future?_

Selene turned around slowly. The witch's eyes were blazing in the dim light of the room. Selene knew how it went with prophecies. They were made of words, and words were wind. _What if it drives me mad? What if I become like my mother, brooding over it till my dying days?_

_What if it helps me?_

Selene stepped closer, thinking of her questions carefully.

"Will we win the war?" Selene asked.

"Yes. You and your great love will endure the wars to come."

Selene sighed in relief, a smile breaking over her face. _Robb and I will win. We will live. I could kiss this woman._

"Will I sit the Iron Throne?"

"The road will be paved with blood and betrayal and grief. With fire and ice. But yes. You and your wolf will rule for decades, and they will be a golden age of peace for the realm."

Selene smile faltered. _Blood, betrayal, and grief._ She wasn't sure how much more she could lose, but she tried to focus more on the positive side. _Robb and I will rule and this realm will know peace._

She thought carefully about the last question. She wanted to ask about her future children, about the child in her belly.

"How many children will I have?" Selene asked excitedly.

"Six living children will you bring into the world."

Selene frowned, " _Living_ is a strange way to describe them."

But the witch continued, ignoring her.

"Coal, silver, and gold will be their crowns. They will be winged stags, ice dragons, golden wolves, and antlered lions. And they will be the shades of those lost to the world, brought back to life."

"I've never heard of a coal crown," Selene argued, her mind whirling. She had also never heard of any type of creature that Maggy was babbling on about, but there was something worse. "What do you mean _shades brought back to life_?"

But Selene had already asked three questions. Maggy the Frog did not answer, and Selene knew she never would.


	33. A Kingdom Falling

Riverrun's great hall was crowded, every eye on the dais. Selene looked upon Lady Mormont's patched ringmail, the Greatjon and his son looming above every other head in the hall, Lord Jason Mallister white haired with winged helm in the crook of his arm, Tytos Blackwood in his magnificent raven-feathered cloak…and coming through the back, Catelyn Tully was being escorted by Ser Desmond, the elderly master-at-arms.

Selene cast a side glance at Robb beside her. _He is a boy no longer,_ she realized with a pang. _He is sixteen now, a man grown. Just look at him._ War had melted all the softness from his face and left him hard and lean. He had shaved his beard away, but his auburn hair fell uncut to his shoulders. On his head was the sword crown they had fashioned for him of bronze and iron. Selene was wearing hers, too. _We bear them more comfortably now,_ she realized. _We bear them like true royalty._

Edmure stood below on the crowded dais, head bowed modestly as Robb praised his victory. "…fell at the Stone Mill shall never be forgotten. Small wonder Lord Tywin ran off to fight Stannis."

"He'd had his fill of northmen and rivermen both," Selene added. That brought laughter and approving shouts, but Selene raised a hand for quiet. "Make no mistake, though. The Lannisters will march again, and there will be other battles to win before the kingdom is secure."

The Greatjon roared out, " _King in the North! Queen in the North!"_ and thrust a mailed fist in the air. The river lords answered with a shout of " _King of the Trident! Queen of the Trident!_ " The hall grew thunderous with pounding fists and stamping feet.

Selene frowned. She remembered the first time the Greatjon had called her Queen in the North. She had felt something beyond pride, at the time. Now, it tasted almost sour. _I'm more than Queen in the North. I'm Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms. Protector of the Realm. At least, that's what I'm supposed to be._

The rest of the hall started to notice Catelyn as she walked toward the dais. Slowly, a hush fell over the hall. Catelyn Tully held her head high and ignored the eyes.

Ser Desmond escorted her forward.

Selene watched Robb carefully. In his eyes was not anger but…apprehension.

The Blackfish was the first to greet her. As black a fish as ever, Ser Brynden had no care for what others might think. He leapt off the dias and pulled Catelyn into his arms. When he said, "It is good to see you home, Cat."

Selene could see Catelyn struggle to keep her composure. "And you," she whispered back.

"Mother."

Catelyn looked up at her tall kingly son. "Your Grace, I have prayed for your safe return. I heard you were wounded."

"I took an arrow through the arm while storming the Crag," Robb said. "It's healed well, though. I had the best of care."

"The gods are good, then." Catelyn took a deep breath. "They will have told you what I did.

"Yes," Selene couldn't keep the rage from her voice. "You have freed my murderous uncle. Our enemy. You've weakened our position, and you used my gift of Brienne's service to do so." Selene couldn't help feeling betrayed. She had sent a member of her own Queensguard to serve Catelyn, and she had repaid her consideration with betrayal.

Catelyn kept her eyes on her son, "Did they tell you my reasons?"

"For Sansa," Robb said.

"I had five children. Now I have two."

_She's given up hope for Arya,_ Selene realized with a pang.

"Aye, my lady," Lord Rickard Karstark pushed past the Greatjon, like some grim specter with his black mail and long ragged grey beard, his narrow face pinched and cold. "And I have one son, who once had three. You have robbed me of my vengeance."

Catelyn faced him calmly, "Lord Rickard, the Kingslayer's dying would not have bought life for your children. His living may buy life for mine."

The lord was unappeased, "Jaime Lannister has played you for a fool. You've bought a bag of empty words, no more. My Torrhen and my Eddard deserved better of you."

"Leave off, Karstark," rumbled the Greatjom, crossing his huge arms against his chest. "It was a mother's folly. Women are made that way."

"Are we?" Selene challenged.

The Greatjon cheeks grew ruddy, but even as she said it, Selene wasn't sure what she would do. _Wouldn't I do anything to save my children?_ She placed a hand protectively on her stomach, which showed only the early stages of her pregnancy. A tiny bulge protruded, small enough that it was hardly noticeable to anyone but her and Robb, who were constantly checking for changes.

Lord Karstark nodded at Selene, "This is no mother's folly. I call it treason."

" _Enough,_ " Robb said so sternly that even Selene was caught off guard. "No man calls my lady of Winterfell a traitor in my hearing, Lord Rickard." When he turned to Catelyn, his voice softened, "If I could wish the Kingslayer back in chains, I would. You freed him without my knowledge or consent…but what you did, I know you did for love. For Sansa, and out of grief for Bran and Rickon. Love's not always wise, I've learned. It can lead us to great folly, but we follow our hearts…wherever they take us. Don't we, Mother?"

_He's too easy with her,_ Selene thought, not daring to question him in front of the whole court. _She is his mother,_ a voice in the back of Selene's head whispered. _I suppose some people actually care for their mothers._

"If my heart led me into folly, I would gladly make whatever amends I can to Lord Karstark and yourself," Catelyn said.

Lord Rickard's face was implacable. "Will your _amends_ warm Torrhen and Eddard in their cold graves where the Kingslayer laid them?" He shouldered between the Greatjon and Maege Mormont and left the hall.

Robb made no move to detain him. "Forgive him, Mother."

"If you will forgive me."

"I have. I know what it is to love so greatly you can think of nothing else." Robb cast a side glance at Selene.

Catelyn bowed her head, looking visibly relieved, "Thank you."

"We must talk," Robb went on. "You and my uncles. Steward, call an end."

Utherydes Wayn slammed his staff on the floor and shouted the dismissal, and the river lords and northeners alike moved toward the doors. Before leaving, some stopped to give Catelyn their well-wishes. "My lady, if Cersei Lannister held two of my daughters, I would have done the same," said Lady Mormont. The Greatjon, no follower of proprieties, lifted her off her feet and squeezed her arms with his huge hands. "Your wolf pup mauled the Kingslayer once, he'll do it again if need be." Glover and Mallister were cooler, Bracken almost icy, but their words were courteous enough.

Edmure was the last to approach his sister. "I pray for your girls as well, Cat. I hope you do not doubt it."

"Of course not," she kissed him. "I love you for it."

When all the words were done, the Great Hall of Riverrun was empty save for Robb, Selene, and the three Tullys.

With the crowd gone, Robb's true feelings showed. He looked stricken, "I thought the battles would be the hard part." He looked around at his uncles, his mother, and his wife. "If I had listened to you and kept Theon as my hostage, I'd still rule the north, and Bran and Rickon would be alive and safe in Winterfell."

Catelyn was quick to console him, "Perhaps. Or not. Lord Balon might still have chanced war. The last time he reached for a crown, it cost him two sons. He might have thought it a bargain to lose only one this time." She touched his arm.

Robb drew back fiercely, "Mother, I have forgiven you, but I am still angry. The Kingslayer was our greatest chance of calling Lord Tywin to heel."

Catelyn looked hurt, but she nodded in understanding.

"Your Graces," Ser Brynden said, "perhaps we had best continue this is private."

"Yes," Robb sounded tired, "I would kill for a cup of wine. The audience chamber, I think."

Lord Hoster's private audience chamber was a small room above the Great Hall, better suited to intimate discussions. There was only one high seat, meant for Lord Hoster. Robb frowned, and called for another chair to be placed beside the high seat. Selene smiled at Robb gratefully, and together they sat, taking off their crowns. Catelyn rang for wine, while Edmure was filling his uncle's ear with the whole story of the fight at the Stone Mill. It was only after the servants had come and gone that the Blackfish cleared his throat and said, "I think we've all heard sufficient of your boasting, nephew."

Edmure was taken aback, "Boasting? What do you mean?"

" _I mean,_ " said the Blackfish, "that you owe your king and queen your thanks for their restraint. They played out that mummer's farce in the Great Hall so as not to shame you before your own people. Had it been me, I would have flayed you for your stupidity rather than praising this folly of the fords."

"Good men died to defend those fords, Uncle." Edmure sounded outraged. "What, is no one to win victories but the Young Wolf and Winter's Fury? Did I steal some glory meant for you, Robb?"

" _Your Grace,"_ Robb corrected, icy. "You took me for your king, Uncle. Or have you forgotten that as well?

The Blackfish said, "You were commanded to hold Riverrun, Edmure, no more."

"I held Riverrun, _and_ I bloodied Lord Tywin's nose-"

"So you did," said Selene, "but a bloody nose won't win the war, will it? Did you ever think to ask yourself why Robb remained in the west so long after Oxcross? You knew we did not have enough men to threaten Lannisport or Casterly Rock."

"Why…there were other castles…gold, cattle…"

"You think we stayed for _plunder_?" Robb was incredulous, "Uncle, I wanted Lord Tywin to come west."

"We were all horsed," Ser Brynden said. "The Lannister host was mainly foot. We planned to run Lord Tywin a merry chase up and down the coast, then slip behind him to take up a strong defensive position athwart the gold road, at a place my scouts had found where the ground would have been greatly in our favor. If he had come at us there, he would have paid a grievous price. But if he did not attack, he would have been trapped in the west, a thousand leagues from where he needed to be. All the while we would have lived off his land, instead of him living off ours."

"Lord Stannis was about to fall upon King's Landing," Selene said. "He might have rid us of Joffrey and Cersei in one red stroke. Then we might have been able to make a peace."

Edmure looked from niece to uncle to nephew, "You never told me."

"I _told_ you to hold Riverrun," said Robb. "What part of that command did you fail to comprehend?"

"When you stopped Lord Tywin on the Red Fork," said the Blackfish, "you delayed him just long enough for riders out of Bitterbridge to reach him with word of what was happening to the east. Lord Tywin turned his host at once, joined up with Matthis Rowan and Randyll Tarly near the headwaters of the Blackwater, and made a forced march to Tumbler's Falls, where he found Mace Tyrell and two of his sons waiting with a huge host and a fleet of barges. They floated down the river, disembarked half a day's ride from the city, and took Stannis in the rear."

Selene remembered Renly's lords, as she had seen in Storm's End. A thousand golden roses streaming in the wind, Lady Margaery's shy smile and soft words, her brother the Knight of Flowers. _The wealth and power of Highgarden can make all the difference in the fighting yet to come,_ Selene thought. _Joffrey and Cersei are still on the throne, but at least Tyrion lives._

Edmure looked ill. "I never meant... _never,_ Robb you must let me make amends. I will lead the van in the next battle!"

Robb shot Selene a quick glance, and she heard his voice as if he had spoken the words aloud. _For amends, Uncle? Or for glory?_

"The next battle," Robb said. "Well, that will be soon enough. Once Joffrey is wed, the Lannisters will take to the field against us once more, I don't doubt, and this time the Tyrells march beside them."

"So long as Theon Greyjoy sits in your father's seat with your brother's blood on his hands, these other foes must wait," Catelyn told her son. "Your first duty is to defend your own people, win back Winterfell, and hang Theon in a crow's cage to die slowly. Or else put off that crown for good, Robb, for men will know that you are no true king at all."

From the way Robb looked at his mother, Selene saw that it had been a long while since she spoke to him so bluntly. "When they told me Winterfell had fallen, I wanted to go north at once," he said with a hint of defensiveness. "If-"

"It's too late for _ifs,_ and too late for rescues," Catelyn said. "All that remains is vengeance."

"The last word we had from the north, Ser Rodrik defeated a force of ironmen near Torrhen's Square and was assembling a force to retake Winterfell," said Robb. "By now he may have done it. There has been no news for a long while. And what of the Trident, if I turn north? I can't ask the river lords to abandon their own people."

"No," Catelyn agreed. "Leave them to guard their own and win back the north with northmen."

"And what of my stormlanders?" Selene asked. "How can I ask them to go north and defend a kingdom that isn't theirs?"

"How will you get the northmen _or_ the stormlanders north?" Edmure asked. "The ironmen control the sunset sea. The Greyjoys hold Moat Caitlin as well. No army has ever taken Moat Caitlin from the south. Even to march against it is madness. We could be trapped on the causeway with the ironborn before us and angry Freys at our backs."

"We must win back the Freys," Selene said.

The Blackfish looked uncomfortable, "Your Grace, I know Walder Frey. He is _not_ reasonable. He is proud, and prickly to a fault. He was going to be grandfather to a king, but you prevented that from happening. Not only did Robb break his oath, but slighted the honor of House Frey by choosing a bride from an enemy house."

Robb bristled at that, "Selene is a Baratheon, not a Lannister. She's from an ancient line and a queen in her own right."

"All of which will only salt Lord Walder's wounds," Catelyn said. "It always rankled him that older houses look down on the Freys as upstarts. This insult is not the first he's borne, to hear him tell it. Jon Arryn declined to foster his grandsons, and my father rejected one of his daughters for Edmure."

Robb was deep in thought, "With them, we still have a chance of success, however small. Without them, I see no hope. I am willing to give Lord Walder whatever he requires…apologies, honors, lands, gold... There must be _something_ that would soothe his pride…"

"Not something," said Catelyn. " _Someone."_

###

"Are you here to free us?" Tion Frey asked hopefully.

Willem Lannister, who was brooding by the window, did not look at Selene as she entered their cell. "She's on _their_ side, Tion. Not ours."

Willem was thirteen, and had been Jaime's squire at the Battle of the Whispering Wood when he was captured. He was her uncle Kevan's third son, and Lancel's brother. Tion was eleven, the son of her aunt Genna Lannister and Emmon Frey, and far more hopeful.

"She could be," the younger boy argued, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm not," Selene said sadly.

Eleni padded up to Tion, sniffed him, and gave his hand a lick. Tion giggled, and even Willem looked back and smiled. Selene had brought the lioness to Casterly Rock years ago as a cub, and it seemed she still remembered Selene's distant cousins. _Eleni can smell my blood in them. She knows we're kin._ The boys weren't afraid of her, either. _Why should they be? Why would lions fear each other?_

Willem's look hardened, "Then why are you here?"

"To speak with my cousins. We're trying to negotiate your release." _Though there is no way Mother will exchange Robb's sister for a couple of cousins._ But they had to try.

Tion looked up at her with his large green eyes. His eyes were his mother's, and his straggly brown hair belonged to his sire. "Why do you fight with them? They're the enemy."

"It's more complicated than that, sweet boy," Selene said.

Willem snorted, "Don't call him that. You don't mean anything to us anymore."

"I've brought you some sweets," Selene offered. She had these lemon cakes made especially for her cousins. She couldn't give them freedom, but she had no desire to see them suffer. "I trust you're being well cared for."

"Oh, yes," Tion nodded, mouth full of cake. "We play together and the guards are nice to us."

"We're still prisoners," Willem said, though he looked longingly at the cake.

Selene walked over and handed him one. He looked at her warily before snatching it.

She fought a smile. They were squires, but still only children. She hated to see them like this.

"I wish things were different."

"Then free us," said Willem. "Let us go back to Casterly Rock. We want to go home."

"Home," Tion repeated.

Selene sighed, "I can't. Not yet. You will go home, I promise." She squatted to let Eleni close her jaws around her wrist, tugging her hand back and forth. It was a game they played.

Willem and Tion watched with wide eyes.

Selene stood, "I promise, this will all be over soon. And then I can visit you at Casterly Rock."

Tion smiled, but Willem shook his shoulder length blond waves, "No. I won't welcome you."

Tion looked torn, lemon cake crumbs on his lips, but said, "Yeah, me either."

Selene remembered how young they had all been when the royal family journeyed to Casterly Rock. Willem had played with Eleni, while Selene held tiny Tion in her small arms, showing him not to fear the lion cub.

Now they were her prisoners.

"I want the best for you two. I hope you know that," Selene said before she left, Eleni following. She did not give them the chance to respond.

###

They carried the corpses in upon their shoulders and laid them beneath the dais. A silence fell across the torchlit hall, and in the quiet, the only noise was the padding of Eleni's feet as she circled the bodies, sadly mewling.

_She's crying,_ Selene knew. _She can cry for me._

Selene sat beside Robb on the dais, and for a moment felt almost as if she were looking down at her own siblings, at Tommen and Myrcella. These boys had been older, but death had shrunken them. Naked and wet, they seemed such little things, so still it was hard to remember them living.

Willem's pale yellow peach fuzz covered his cheeks and jaw above the red ruin the knife had made of his throat. His long golden hair was still wet, as if he had been pulled from a bath. By the look of him, he had died peacefully, perhaps in his sleep, but Tion had fought for his life. His arms bore slashes where he'd tried to block the blades, and red still trickled slowly from the stab wounds that covered his chest and belly and back like so many tongueless mouths, though the rain had almost washed them clean.

She and Robb had donned their crowns before coming to the hall, and the bronze shone darkly in the torchlight. Shadows hid Robb's eyes as he looked upon the dead. _I see my siblings, does he see Bran and Rickon?_ She might have wept, but there were no tears left in her. The dead boys were pale from long imprisonment, and against their white skin, the blood was shockingly red, unbearable to look upon. From outside came to steady wash of rain and Grey Wind's restless howling. Grey Wind had been howling all night, so Robb put him in the kennels. _He knew,_ Selene thought dully. _Grey Wind tried to warn us._

Edmure stood to Robb's right, one hand upon the back of his father's seat, his face still puffy from sleep. They had woken him as they had her, pounding on his door in the black of night to yank him rudely from his dreams.

Robb's captains and lords bannerman stood about the hall, some mailed and armed, others in various states of dishevelment and undress.

It seemed a very long time before Robb lifted his eyes from the bloody dead. "Smalljon," he said, "tell your father to bring them in." Wordless, Smalljon Umber turned to obey, his steps echoing in the great stone hall.

As the Greatjon marched his prisoners through the doors, Selene noticed how other men stepped back to give them room, as if treason could somehow be passed by a touch, a glance, a cough. The captors and the captives looked much alike; big men, every one, with thick beards and long hair. Two of the Greatjon's men were wounded, and three of their prisoners. Only the fact that some had spears and others empty scabbards served to set them apart. All were clad in mail, with heavy boots, thick cloaks…. _The north is hard and cold, and has no mercy._

"Five," said Robb when the prisoners stood before him, wet and silent. "Is that all of them?"

"There were eight," rumbled the Greatjon. "We killed two taking them, and a third is dying now."

Selene studied the faces of the captives, "It required eight of you to kill two unarmed squires."

Edmure spoke up, "They murdered two of my men as well, to get into the tower. Delp and Elwood."

"It was no murder, ser," said Lord Rickard Karstark, no more discomfited by the ropes about his wrists than by the blood that trickled down his face. "Any man who steps between a father and his vengeance asks for death."

His words rang against Selene's ears, harsh and cruel as the pounding of a war drum. She chanced a look at Catelyn, whose face was ashen. _She must blame herself. My cousins died so her daughter might live._

"I saw your sons die, that night in the Whispering Wood," Robb told Lord Karstark. "Tion Frey did not kill Torrhen. Willem Lannister did not kill Eddard. How then can you call this vengeance? This was folly, and bloody murder. Your sons died honorably on a battlefield, with swords in their hands."

"They _died,_ " said Rickard Karstark, yielding no inch of ground. "The Kingslayer cut them down. These two were of his ilk. Only blood can pay for blood."

"The blood of children?" Selene pointed at the corpses. "Willem was thirteen. Tion was eleven. They were _squires. Boys!"_ As she yelled, Eleni's eyes found Karstark. She bared her fangs.

If Karstark noticed Eleni tensing for attack, he did not show signs of fearing it, "Squires die in every battle."

"Die fighting, yes." Robb's anger was just as palpable as hers. "Tion and Willem gave up their swords in the Whispering Wood. They were captives, locked in a cell, asleep, unarmed…boys. _Look at them!"_

Lord Karstark looked instead at Catelyn, "Tell your mother to look at them," he said. "She slew them, as much as I."

Catelyn put a hand on the back of Robb's seat to steady herself.

"My mother had naught to do with this," Robb said angrily. "This was your work. Your murder. Your _treason._ "

"How can it be treason to kill Lannisters, when it is not treason to free them? Or marry them?" Karstark said harshly, eyeing Selene with eyes as hard as stone, "Has Your Grace forgotten that we are at war with Casterly Rock? In war you kill your enemies. Didn't your father teach you that, boy?"

" _Boy_?" The Greatjon dealt Rickard Karstark a blow that sent the other lord to his knees.

"Leave him!" Robb's voice rang with command. Umber stepped back away from the captain.

Karstark spit out a broken tooth. "Yes, Lord Umber, leave me to the king. He means to give me a scolding before he forgives me. That's how he deals with treason, our King in the North." He smiled a wet red smile. "Or should I call you the King Who Lost the North, Your Grace?"

The Greatjon snatched a spear from the man beside him and jerked it to his shoulder. "Let me spit him, sire. Let me open his belly so we can see the color of his guts."

The doors of the hall crashed open, and the Blackfish entered with water running from his cloak and helm. Tully men-at-arms followed him in, while outside lightning cracked across the sky and hard black rain pounded against the stones of Riverrun. Ser Brynden removed his helm and went to one knee. "Your Grace," was all he said, but the grimness of his tone spoke volumes.

"We will hear Ser Brynden privately, in the audience chamber." Robb rose to his feet. Selene followed suit.

"Greatjon, keep Lord Karstark here till we return, and hang the other seven." Selene commanded.

Umber lowered the spear, "Even the dead ones?"

"Yes," Robb said. "I will not have such fouling my lord uncle's rivers. Let them feed the crows."

One of the captives dropped to his knees. "Mercy, gracious queen. Good Queen Selene." _He thinks to take advantage of a woman's heart,_ Selene thought heatedly as he continued begging. "I killed no one, I only stood at the door to watch for the guards."

Selene considered that a moment. "Did you know what Lord Rickard intended? Did you see the knives drawn? Did you hear the shouts, the screams, the cries for mercy?"

"Aye, I did, but I took no part. I was only the watcher, I swear it…"

"Lord Umber," said Selene, "this one was only the watcher. Hang him last, so he may watch the others die." She glanced at Robb for his opinion. He nodded in agreement.

It was dark within the audience chamber, but at least the sound of thunder was muffled by another thickness of wall. A servant entered with an oil lamp to light the fire, but Robb sent him away and kept the lamp. There were tables and chairs, but only Edmure sat, and he rose again where he realized that the others had remained standing. Robb took off his crown, and Selene did the same.

The Blackfish shut the door. "The Karstarks are gone."

"All?" Was it anger or despair that thickened Robb's voice? Even Selene was not certain.

"All the fighting men," Ser Brynden replied. "A few camp followers and serving men were left with their wounded. We questioned as many as we needed, to be certain of the truth. They started leaving at nightfall, stealing off in ones and twos at first, and then in larger groups. The wounded men and servants were told to keep the campfires lit so no one would know they'd gone, but once the rains began it didn't matter."

"Will they re-form, away from Riverrun?" Selene asked.

"No. They've scattered, hunting. Lord Karstark has sworn to give the hand of his maiden daughter to any man highborn or low who brings him the head of the Kingslayer."

_Gods be good,_ Selene thought. _If Jaime dies, Sansa is as good as buried._ Selene looked at Catelyn, who appeared ill. Selene also felt a weird pain in her chest at the thought of Jaime's death.

"Near three hundred riders and twice as many mounts, melted away in the night." Robb rubbed his temples, where the crown had left its mark in the soft skin above his ears. "All the mounted strength of Karhold, lost."

_Lost by Catelyn, may the gods forgive her._ The pain on Catelyn's face was all Selene needed to know that her good mother felt the same. For the moment they held the riverlands, but their kingdom was surrounded by enemies on all sides except east, where Lysa Arryn sat aloof on her mountaintop. Even the Trident was scarce secure so long as the Lord of the Crossing withheld his allegiance. _And now we lose the Karstarks as well…_

"No word of this must leave Riverrun," Edmure said. "Lord Tywin would…the Lannisters pay their debts, they are always saying that. Mother have mercy, when he hears."

_Sansa,_ Selene's nails dug into the soft flesh of her palms.

Robb gave Edmure a look that chilled. "Would you make me a liar, as well as a murderer, Uncle?"

"We need speak no falsehood. Only say nothing. Bury the boys and hold our tongues till the war's done. Willem was son to Ser Kevan Lannister, and Lord Tywin's nephew. Tion was Lady Genna's, _and_ a Frey…"

"You need not remind me who they were," Selene said sharply. "They were my own blood and innocent from the crimes of their family."

"The truth escaped with the Karstarks," Ser Brynden reported. "It's too late for such games."

"I owe their fathers truth," said Robb, "and justice. I owe them that as well." He gazed at his crown, the dark gleam of bronze, the circle of iron swords, "Lord Rickard defied me. Betrayed me. I have no choice but to condemn him. Gods know what the Karstark foot with Roose Bolton will do when they hear I've executed their liege for a traitor. Bolton must be warned."

"Lord Karstark's heir was at Harrenhal as well," Ser Bryden reminded him. "The eldest son, the one the Lannisters took captive on the Green Fork."

"Harrion. His name is Harrion." Robb laughed bitterly. "A king should know the names of his enemies, don't you think?"

Selene looked at Robb shrewdly, "You know that for a certainty? That this will make young Karstark your enemy?"

"What else would he be? I am about to kill his father, he is not like to thank me."

"He might. There are sons who hate their fathers, and in a stroke you will make him Lord of Karhold."

Robb shook his head. "Even if Harrion were that sort, he could never openly forgive his father's killer. His own men would turn on him. These are _northmen,_ Selene. The north remembers."

"Pardon him, then," urged Edmure Tully.

Robb stared at him in frank disbelief.

Under that gaze, Edmure's face reddened, "Spare his life, I mean. I don't like the taste of it any more than you, sire. He slew my men as well. Poor Delp had only just recovered from the wound Ser Jaime gave him. Karstark must be punished, certainly. Keep him in chains, I say."

"A hostage?" said Selene. _It might be the most cautious course…_

"Yes, a hostage!" Edmure seized on her musings as agreement. "Tell the son that so long as he remains loyal, his father will not be harmed. Otherwise…we have no hope of the Freys now, not if I offered to marry _all_ Lord Walder's daughters and carry his litter besides. If we should lose the Karstarks as well, what hope is there?"

"What hope…" Robb let out a breath, pushed his hair back from his eyes, and said, "We've had naught from Ser Rodrik in the north, no response from Walder Frey to our new offer, only silence from the Eeyrie." He appealed to his mother, "Will your sister never answer us? How many times must I write to her? I will not believe that _none_ of the birds have reached her."

Catelyn's son wanted comfort, but her king needed truth. "The birds have reached her. Though she may tell you they did not, if it ever comes to that. Expect no help from that quarter, Robb." Catelyn Tully sat down, "Lysa was never brave. When were girls together, she would run and hide whenever she'd done something wrong. Perhaps she thought our lord father would forget to be wroth with her if he could not find her. It is no different now. She ran from King's Landing for fear, to the safest place she knows, and she sits on her mountain hoping everyone will forget her."

"The knights of the Vale could make all the difference in this war," said Robb, "but if she will not fight, so be it. I've asked only that she open the Bloody Gate for us, and provide ships at Gulltown to take us north. The high road would be hard, but not so hard as fighting our way up the Neck. If I could land at White Harbor, I could flank Moat Caitlin and drive the ironmen from the north in half a year."

_Half a year,_ Selene thought woozily. _How long until I sit my father's throne?_ She had hoped the war would end sonner, but it seemed less likely every day. She would have to wait, though. She was queen of nothing if the north was lost.

"It will not happen, sire," said the Blackfish. "Cat is right. Lady Lysa is too fearful to admit an army to the Vale. _Any_ army. The Bloody Gate will remain closed."

"The Others can take her, then," Robb cursed, in a fury of despair. "Bloody Rickard Karstark as well. And Theon Greyjoy, Walder Frey, Tywin Lannister, and all the rest of them. Gods be good, why would any man ever want to be king? When everyone was shouting _King in the North, King in the North,_ I told myself…. _swore_ to myself…that I would be a good king, as honorable as Father, strong, just, and loyal to my friends and brave when I faced my enemies…now I can't even tell one from the other. How did it all get so _confused_? Lord Rickard fought at my side in half a dozen battles. His sons died for me in the Whispering Wood. Tion Frey and Willem Lannister were my _enemies._ Yet now I have to kill my dead friends' father for their sakes." He looked at Selene, "Will the Lannisters thank me for Lord Rickard's head? Will the Freys?"

"No," said Selene.

"All the more reason to spare Lord Rickard's life and keep him hostage," Edmure urged.

Robb looked at Selene, "What would you have me do?"

"Either way, Karstark's men are lost to us," Selene reasoned. "Sparing him will not bring them back to you. And yet…kill him, and our foes will know we are crumbling from the inside. I say imprisonment, until a better course of action comes along."

Robb gave her the same look he gave her when she raised her concern about Theon. Like he was going to do what he wanted anyway.

Robb reached down with both hands, lifted the heavy bronze-and-iron crown, and set it back atop his head, and suddenly he was a king again. "Lord Rickard dies."

"Why ask for my counsel if you never heed it?" Selene flared. "Why-"

"Because you are my wife and queen," Robb interrupted. "I have taken your counsel to heart, but I must do this. He dies."

"But _why_?" said Edmure, "You said yourself-"

"I know what I said, Uncle. It does not change what I must do." The swords in his crown stood stark and black against his brow. "In battle I might have slain Tion and Willem myself, but this was no battle. They were asleep in their beds, unarmed, in a cell where I put them. Rickard Karstark killed more than a Frey and a Lannister. _He killed my honor_. I shall deal with him at dawn."

"I knew an honorable man once," Selene said furiously. "I can tell you what happened to him." As soon as the words shot from her mouth, she wished nothing more than to take them back. _Gods, have I lost my wits? What if Robb mocked my own father?_

Robb's face darkened. He walked up to her, and for the first time, he truly frightened her. " _Never_ mock my father again."

When day broke, grey and chilly, the storm had diminished to a steady, soaking rain, yet even so the godswood was crowded. River lords and northmen, highborn and low, knights and sellswords and stableboys, they all stood amongst the trees to see the end of the night's dark dance. Edmure had given commands, and a headmen's block had been set up before the heart tree. Rain and leaves fell all around them as Greatjon's men led Lord Karstarck through the crowd, hands still bound. His men already hung from Riverrun's high walls, slumping at the end of long ropes as the rain washed down their darkened faces.

Robb held the axe in his hands. Selene had asked him to summon someone else to do the deed. "This is my work," Robb said. "He dies at my word. He must die by my hand."

Lord Rickard dipped his head stiffly, "For that much, I thank you. But for naught else." He had dressed for death in a long black surcoat emblazoned with the white sunburst of his House. "The blood of the first Men flows in my veins, as much as yours, boy. You would do well to remember that. I was named for your grandfather. I raised my banners against King Aerys for your father, and against King Joffrey for you. At Oxcross and the Whispering Wood and the Battle of the Camps, I rode beside you, as I stood with Lord Eddard on the Trident. We are kin, Stark and Karstark."

Karstark had spoken truly, Selene knew. Last night, Selene had asked Robb about the Karstark's relation to the Starks. The Karstarks traced their descent to Karlon Stark, a younger son of Winterfell who had put down a rebel lord a thousand years ago, and been granted lands for his valor. The castle he built had been named Karl's Hold, but that soon became Karhold, and over the centuries the Karhold Starks had become Karstarks.

"This kinship did not stop you from betraying me," Robb said. "And it will not save you now. Kneel, my lord."

"Old gods or new, it makes no matter," Lord Rickard said. "No man is so accursed as the kinslayer."

"Kneel, traitor." Robb said again. "Or must I have them force your head onto the block?"

Karstark knelt, "The gods shall judge you, as you have judged me." He laid his head upon the block.

"Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold." Robb lifted the heavy axe with both hands. "Here in the sight of gods and men, I judge you guilty of murder and high treason. In mine own name I condemn you. With mine own hand I take your life. Would you speak a final word?"

"Kill me and be cursed. You are no king of mine."

The axe crashed down. Heavy and well-honed, it killed at a single blow, but it took three to sever the man's head from his body, and by the time it was done both living and dead were drenched in blood. Robb flung the axe down in disgust, and turned wordless to the heart tree. Selene walked to his side. He stood shaking with his hands half-clenched and the rain running down his face. _Gods forgive him,_ Selene prayed in silence. _He served justice, he had no other choice._

Robb and Selene stayed in their chambers for the rest of the day. Robb was miserable, angry, and disconsolate. Selene sent for hot water, and removed Robb's bloody clothes and eased him into the bath. He was passive, letting her sit beside the tub and wash him with a cloth. He leaned back in the bath, while Selene ran her fingers through his hair. At first it was to rinse him of blood, but then she continued, knowing how much he enjoyed it. The rain outside battered against the castle, and thunder clapped outside. _Is this the sound of a kingdom falling?_


	34. A King Indeed

The Starks of Winterfell had their cold crypt under the earth, but the Tullys drew their strength from the river, and it was to the river they returned when their lives had run their course.

They laid Lord Hoster in a slender wooden boat, clad in shining silver armor. His cloak was spread beneath him, rippling blue and red. His banner flew from the prow, the leaping trout of Riverrun.

Seven were chosen to push the funeral boat to the water, in honor of the seven faces of god. Robb was one, Lord Hoster's liege lord. With him were the Lords Bracken, Blackwood, Vance, and Mallister, Ser Marq Piper…and Lame Lothar Frey, who had come down from the Twins with the answer they had awaited. Forty soldiers rode in his escort, commanded by Walder Rivers, the eldest of Lord Walder's bastard brood, a stern, grey-haired man with a formidable reputation as a warrior. Their arrival, coming within hours of Lord Hoster's passing, had sent Edmure into a rage. "Walder Frey should be flayed and quartered!" he'd shouted. "He sends a cripple and a bastard to treat with us, tell me there is no insult meant by that."

"I have no doubt that Lord Walder chose his envoys with care," Lady Catelyn had replied. "It was a peevish thing to do, a petty sort of revenge, but remember who we are dealing with. The Late Lord Frey, Father used to call him. The man is ill-tempered, envious, and above all _prideful._ "

Blessedly, Robb had shown better sense than Edmure. The king greeted the Freys with every courtesy, found barracks for their escort, and quietly asked Ser Desmond Grell to stand aside so Lothar might have the honor of helping send Lord Hoster on his last voyage. _He has learned a rough wisdom beyond his years,_ Selene thought proudly. House Frey might have abandoned the King in the North, but the Lord of the Crossing remained the most powerful of Riverrun's bannerman, and Lothar was here in his stead.

Selene stood beside Catelyn, watching from the battlements. Her good mother was silent, her face as still as stone, and Selene could only stand next to her and share her grief.

The slim boat drifted out from under the red stone arch of the Water Gate, picking up speed as it was caught in the headlong rush of the Tumblestone and pushed out into the rivers.

" _Now,_ " The Blackfish urged. Beside him, Edmure – _Lord_ Edmure now in truth – nocked an arrow to his bowstring. His squire held a brand to its point. Edmure waited until the flame caught, then lifted the great bow, drew the string to his ear, and let fly. With a deep _thrum,_ the arrow sped upward. Selene followed its flight with her eyes, until it plunged into the water with a soft _hiss,_ well astern of Lord Hoster's boat.

Edmure cursed softly. "The wind," he said, pulling a second arrow. "Again." The brand kissed the oil-soaked rag behind the arrowhead, the flames went licking up, Edmure lifted, pulled, and released. High and far the arrow flew. Too far. It vanished in the river a dozen yards beyond the boar. A flush was creeping up Edmure's neck, red as his beard. "Once more," he commanded, taking a third arrow from the quiver.

_He is as tight as his bowstring,_ Selene thought.

Ser Brynden must have seen the same thing. "Let me, my lord," he offered.

"I can do it," Edmure insisted. He let them light an arrow, jerked the bow up, took a deep breath, drew back the arrow. For a long moment he seemed to hesitate while the fire crept up the shaft, crackling. Finally, he released. The arrow flashed up and up, and finally curved down again, falling, falling…and hissing past the billowing sail.

A narrow miss, no more than a handspan, and yet a miss. "The Others take it!" Edmure swore. The boat was almost out of range, drifting in and out among the river mists. Wordless, Edmure thrust the bow at his uncle.

"Swiftly," Ser Bryden said. He nocked an arrow, held it steady for a brand, drew and released before Selene was sure that the fire had caught…but as the shot rose, she saw the flames trailing through the air, a pale orange. The boat had vanished in the mists. Falling, the flaming arrow was swallowed up as well…but only for a heartbeat. Then, they saw a red bloom flower. The sails took fire, and the fog glowed pink.

Selene saw Catelyn reach out for Edmure's hand, but he had moved away to stand alone on the highest point of the battlements. Ser Brynden took her hand instead. The weight of his armor would carry Lord Hoster down to rest in the soft mud of the riverbed, in the watery halls where the Tullys held eternal court, with schools of fish their last attendants.

No sooner had the burning boat vanished from sight than Edmure walked off. He was the Lord of Riverrun now, and his knights were falling in around him, whispering their condolences and promises of fealty. Edmure listened, hearing none of their words.

The Blackfish escorted them down to where Robb stood among his bannermen. When Robb saw his mother, he took her silently in his arms.

"Lord Hoster looked as noble as a king, my lady," Selene said. "Would that I had been given the chance to know him."

"And I to know him better," added Robb.

"He would have wished that too," said Catelyn. "There were too many leagues between Riverrun and Winterfell."

Others were waiting to offer Catelyn and Robb their consolations, so Selene stood aside patiently while Lord Jason Mallister, the Greatjon, and Maege Mormont spoke to them each in turn. But, when Lothar Frey approached, she gave Robb's sleeve a tug. He turned, and waited to hear what Lothar would say.

"Your Grace." A plump man in his middle thirties, Lothar Frey had close-set eyes, a pointed beard, and dark hair that fell to his shoulders in ringlets. A leg twisted at birth had earned him the name _Lame Lothar._ He had served as his father's steward for the past dozen years. "We are loath to intrude upon your grief, but perchance you might grant us audience tonight?"

"It would be my pleasure," said Robb. "It was never my wish to sow enmity between us."

"Nor mine to be the cause of it," added Selene. _Robb was sworn to me first,_ she thought fiercely, but she swallowed her pride and poured sincerity into her words.

Lothar Frey seemed to look at her for the first time. "When I heard the King in the North was to marry a daughter of a different house, I knew it must have been a rare maiden to turn a king's head so. Setting eyes on you, most beautiful of women, I understand, as does my lord father. He instructed me to say that he was young once, and well remembers what it is like to lose one's heart to beauty."

Selene doubted very much that Lord Walder had said any such thing, or that he had ever lost his heart to beauty. The Lord of the Crossing had outlived seven wives and was now wed to his eighth, but he spoke of them only as bed warmers and brood mares. Still, the words were fairly spoken and she could scarce object to the compliment.

Nor could Robb. "Your father is most gracious," he said. "I shall look forward to our talk."

Lothar bowed, kissed Selene's hand, and withdrew. By then a dozen others had gathered for a word. Robb spoke with each of them, giving a thanks here, a smile there, as needed.

Her stormlanders approached her, Ronnel Penrose, Ser Goodwin of Tarth, Lady Mary Mertyns, and her cousin Ser Andrew Estermont.

"Condolences, Your Grace," Ser Andrew said, his large bushy brown brows drawn together sadly. The other lords and lady followed suit.

"Thank you, cousin." Selene said quietly, as she embraced him. "And thank you all, for your kind words and unwavering support." When she told them of the plan to the north instead of south, she listened to their council. They had been averse at first, but had eventually agreed to help their king secure his kingdom, and grow in strength enough to secure their queen hers.

Robb walked up to her, "My queen, will you walk with me?"

"Of course," Selene nodded at her small party. "If you will excuse me."

Robb's steps seemed to be leading them toward the godswood. "Lothar seemed amiable, that's a hopeful sign. We need the Freys."

"That does not mean we shall have them."

He nodded, and there was a glumness to his face and a slope to his shoulder that made her heart go out to him. _The crown is crushing him,_ she thought. _He wants so much to be a good king, to be brave and honorable and clever, but the weight is too much for a boy to bear._ Robb was doing as well as he could, yet still the blows kept falling, one after the other, relentless. When they brought him word of the battle of Duskendale, where Lord Randyll Tarly had shattered Robett Glover and Ser Helman Tallhart, he might have expected to rage. Instead he'd stared in dumb disbelief and said, "Duskendale, on the narrow sea? Why would they go to Duskendale?" He'd shook his head, bewildered, "A third of my foot, lost for _Duskendale?_ "

"The ironmen have my castle and now the Lannisters hold my brother," Galbart Glover said, in a voice thick with despair. Robett Glover had survived the battle, but had been captured near the kingsroad not long after.

"Not for long," her husband promised. "I will offer them Martyn Lannister in exchange. Lord Tywin will have to accept, for his brother's sake." Martyn was Ser Kevan's son, and Willem's twin. Selene had wanted to visit him in his cell, but she couldn't bear to look upon him. The same night she had visited Willam and Tion, they had been butchered, and the thought of visiting Martyn made her ill. The death of those boys haunted Robb as well. He had tripled the guard around Martyn to ease her mind, but even Robb still feared for his safety.

"I should have traded the Kingslayer for Sansa when my mother first urged it," Robb said as they walked the gallery. "If I'd offered to wed her to the Knight of Flowers, the Tyrells might be ours instead of Joffrey's. I should have thought of that."

_He's torturing himself._ "With Margaery married to my Uncle Renly, we thought we had the Tyrells. Even a king cannot think of everything. Your mind was on your battles."

"Battles," muttered Robb as he led her out beneath the trees. "I have won every battle, yet somehow I'm losing the war." He looked up, as if the answer might be written in the sky. "The ironmen hold Winterfell, and Moat Caitlin too. Father's dead, and Bran and Rickon, Arya lost, and now my grandfather too."

She could not let him despair. She knew the taste of that draught too well herself. "Lord Hoster had been dying for a long time, Robb. You could not have changed that. You've made mistakes, but what king has not?" She took his hand and smiled at him, "Your father would have been proud of you."

"Selene, there is something you must know."

Her heart skipped a beat. _This is something he hates. Something he dreads to tell me._ "Is it my Uncle Jaime?"

"No. It's Sansa."

_Catelyn's betrayal has gone horribly wrong. If Brienne has failed, and Jaime dead, than Sansa must be…_ "Is…is she gone, Robb?"

"Gone?" He looked startled, "Dead? Oh, Selene, no, not that, they haven't harmed her, not that way, only…they married her to your Uncle Tyrion."

Selene sighed greatly in relief.

Robb looked at her, shocked.

"Don't you see, my dear?" Selene said, throwing her arms around his neck and planting kisses on his cheeks, "Sansa is _safe."_

Robb was speechless.

"You should know by now how much I adore my uncle," Selene said.

He nodded, "Yes, but I-"

"Don't," Selene insisted. "Sansa is only a child…Tyrion will never touch her." _Not until she wants him too,_ she thought, but it was wiser not to speak like that in a brother's hearing.

Something was bothering her, though, "Why would they marry Sansa to Tyrion?"

"For Winterfell," Robb said at once. "With Bran and Rickon dead, Sansa is my heir. If anything should happen to me…"

Selene clutched his hand tight. "Nothing will happen to you. _Nothing._ I could not stand it. They took my father, and yours. My uncle. Your sweet brothers. Sansa is married, Arya lost…if anything befell you, I would go mad, Robb. Besides, Sansa is not your heir." She placed his hand over her stomach. " _This_ is your heir. Yours and mine. You both are all I have left. You are all the _north_ has left."

Robb smiled, "I am not dead yet, Selene."

Suddenly, Selene was full of dread. "Wars need not be fought until the last drop of blood." Even she could hear the desperation in her voice. Perhaps it was the baby growing her in belly, but for a moment, she didn't care about crowns or justice. She wanted her little family to survive. "We would not be the first king and queen to bend the knee. You wouldn't even be the first Stark."

His mouth tightened, "No. Never."

"There is no shame in it. Balon Greyjoy bent the knee to my father when his rebellion failed. Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror rather than see his army face the fires."

"Did Aegon kill King Torrhen's father?" He pulled his hands from hers, "Never, I said."

_He is playing the boy now, not the king._ "You don't think I want to avenge my own father? Of course I do, Robb." She cupped his chin with one of her hands, so he would look at her, "But I want us to _live._ I want our child to live. To grow up with a mother and father, somewhere safe. Is it so terrible to consider a peaceful way out?"

"Yes," Robb said. "The Lannisters killed my father."

"And mine. Do you think I have forgotten that?"

"I don't know. Have you?"

Selene had never struck Robb in anger, but she almost struck him then. It was an effort to remind herself how frightened he felt. "We are the King and Queen in the North, the choice is ours. I only ask that you think on what I've said. The singers make much of kings who die valiantly in battle, but your life is worth more than a song. To me at least, who wants to share that life with you."

Hours later, she was staring at battle maps, trying to find some hidden victory in the old scrolls, Eleni purring at her feet like an oversized house cat. It wasn't until Robb's squire came to escort her to dinner, did she realize how late it was.

If Robb seemed cool at the table, and Edmure surly, Lame Lothar made up for them both. He was the model of courtesy, reminiscing warmly about Lord Hoster, offering Catelyn gentle condolences on the loss of Bran and Rickon, praising Edmure for the victory at the Stone Mill, and thanking Robb for the "swift sure justice" he had given Rickard Karstark. Lothar's bastard brother Walder Rivers was another matter, a harsh, sour man with old Lord Walder's suspicious face, he spoke but seldom and devoted much of his attention to the meat and mead before him, and to staring at Selene.

Selene could feel Robb growing angry beside her at the blatant desire, but she leaned in and whispered, "Don't worry. I can handle it," so he would not act and cost them the Freys.

When all the empty words were said, the remains of the meal were cleared away, and Lothar Frey cleared his throat. "Before we turn to the business that brings us here, there is another matter," he said solemnly. "A grave matter, I fear. I had hoped it would not fall to me to bring you these tidings, but it seems I must. My lord father has had a letter from his grandsons."

Judging from the look on Catelyn's face, it seemed the lady had forgotten the two Freys she had agreed to foster. "The grandsons at Winterfell?" Lady Catelyn asked. "My wards?"

"Walder and Walder, yes. But they are presently at the Dreadfort, my lady. I grieve to tell you this, but there has been a battle. Winterfell is burned."

Selene took Robb's hand.

" _Burned?_ " Robb's voice was incredulous.

"Your northern lords tried to retake it from the ironmen. When Theon Greyjoy saw that his prize was lost, he put the castle to the torch."

"We have heard naught of any battle," said Ser Brynden.

"My nephews are young, I grant you, but they were there. Big Walder wrote the letter, though his cousin signed as well. It was a bloody bit of business, by their account. Your castellan was slain. Ser Rodrik, was that his name?"

"Ser Rodrik Cassel," said Catelyn, looking ill. "What of our people?"

"The ironmen put many of them to the sword, I fear."

Wordless with rage, Robb slammed a fist down on the table and turned his face away, so the Freys would not see his tears.

But his wife saw them. _The world grows a little darker every day._

"Please, not _all,_ " Selene said.

"No," said Lame Lothar. "The women and children hid, my nephews Walder and Walder among them. With Winterfell in ruins, the survivors were carried back to the Dreadfort by this son of Lord Bolton's."

"Bolton's _son?_ " Robb's voice was strained.

Walder Rivers spoke up, "A bastard son, I believe."

"Not Ramsay Snow? Does Lord Roose have another bastard?" Selene scowled. "This Ramsay was a monster and a murderer, and he died a coward. Or so we were told."

"I cannot speak to that. There is much confusion in any war. Many false reports. All I can tell you is that my nephews claim it was this bastard son of Bolton's who saved the women of Winterfell, and the little ones. They are safe at the Dreadfort now, with all those who remain."

"Theon," Robb said suddenly. "What happened to Theon Greyjoy? Was he slain?"

Lame Lothar spread his hands, "That I cannot say, Your Grace. Walder and Walder made no mention of his fate. Perhaps Lord Bolton might know, if he has had any word from this son of his."

Ser Brynden said, "We will be certain to ask him."

"You are all distraught, I see. I am sorry to have brought you such fresh grief. Perhaps we should adjourn until the morrow. Our business can wait until you have composed yourselves…"

"No," said Selene, sitting up a little straighter in her chair. "We want the matter settled."

Lord Edmure nodded, "Me as well. Do you have an answer to our offer, my lord?"

"I do," Lothar smiled. "My lord father bids me to tell Your Grace that he will agree to this new marriage alliance between our houses and renew his fealty to the King in the North, upon the condition that the King's Grace apologizes to the insult done to House Frey, in his royal person, face to face."

An apology was a small enough price to pay, but Selene misliked this petty condition of Lord Walder's at once.

"I am pleased," Robb said cautiously. "It was never my wish to cause this rift between us, Lothar. The Freys fought valiantly for my cause at the Battle of the Camps and in the Whispering Wood. I would have them at my side once more."

"You are too kind, Your Grace. My lord father also asks for the privilege of meeting his new queen in person, to look upon the maiden who stole his king's heart."

Robb glanced at Selene, waiting for her word.

Selene smiled with easy courtesy, "I would be honored to meet such a loyal friend to our kingdom." _I was born and raised for this, Lame Lothar. Born to be a proper princess. I can deal with the likes of your father._

"You are too kind, Your Grace. As you accept these terms, I am then instructed to offer Lord Tully the hand of my sister, the Lady Roslin, a maid of sixteen years. Roslin is my lord father's youngest daughter by Lady Bethany of House Rosby, his sixth wife. She has a gentle nature and a gift for music."

Edmure shifted in his seat, "Might not it be better if I first met-"

"You'll meet when you're wed," said Walder Rivers curtly. "Unless Lord Tully feels a need to count her teeth first?"

Edmure kept his temper, "I will take your word so far as her teeth are concerned, but it would be pleasant if I might gaze upon her face before I espoused her."

"You must accept her now, my lord," said Walder Rivers. "Else my father's offer is withdrawn."

Lame Lothar spread his hands. "My brother has a soldier's bluntness, but what he says is true. It is my lord father's wish that this marriage take place at once."

"At _once?_ " Edmure sounded so unhappy that Selene wondered if he had been entertaining notions of breaking the betrothal after the fighting was done.

"Has Lord Walder forgotten that we are fighting a war?" Ser Brynden asked sharply.

"Scarcely," said Lothar. "This is why he insists that the marriage take place now, ser. Men die in war, even men who are young and strong. What would become of our alliance should Lord Edmure fall before he took Roslin to bride? And there is my father's age to consider as well. He is past ninety as not like to see the end of this struggle. It would put his noble heart at peace if he could see his dear Roslin safely wed before the gods take him, so he might die with the knowledge that the girl had a strong husband to cherish and protect her."

_We all want Lord Walder to die happy._ Selene was growing less and less comfortable with this arrangement.

"My brother has just lost his own father," Lady Catelyn said. "He needs time to mourn."

"Roslin is a cheerful girl," said Lothar. "She may be the very thing Lord Edmure needs to help him through his grief."

"And my father has come to mislike lengthy betrothals," the bastard Walder Rivers added. "I cannot image why."

Selene gave him a chilly look. "I take your meaning, Rivers. Pray, excuse us."

"As Your Grace commands." Lame Lothar rose, and his bastard brother helped him hobble from the room.

Edmure was seething, "They're as much saying that my promise is worthless. Why should I let that old weasel choose my bride? Lord Walder has other daughters besides this Roslin. Granddaughters as well. I should be offered the same choice you were, Robb. I'm his liege lord, he should be overjoyed that I'm willing to wed _any_ of them."

"He is a proud man, and we've wounded him," said Catelyn.

"The Others take his pride! I will not be shamed in my own hall. My answer is no."

Robb gave him a weary look. "I will not command you, Uncle. Not in this. But if you refuse, Lord Frey will take it for another slight, and any hope of putting this arights will be gone."

"You cannot know that," Edmure insisted. "Frey has wanted me for one of his daughters since the day I was born. He will not let a chance like this slip between those grasping fingers of his. When Lothar brings him our answer, he'll come wheedling back and accept a betrothal…and to a daughter of _my_ choosing."

"Perhaps, in time," said Selene, "but can we wait, while Lothar rides back and forth with counters?"

Robb's hands curled into fists, "I _must_ get back to the north. My brothers dead, Winterfell burned, and my smallfolk put to the sword…the gods only know what this bastard of Bolton's is about, or whether Theon is still alive and on the loose. I can't sit here waiting for a wedding that might or might not happen."

"It _must_ happen," said Catelyn, though not gladly. "I have no more wish to suffer Walder Frey's insults and complaints that you do, Brother, but I see little choice here. Without this wedding, Robb's cause is lost. Edmure, we must accept."

" _We_ must accept?" he echoed peevishly. "I don't see you offering to become the ninth Lady Frey, Cat."

"The eighth Lady Frey is still alive and well, so far as I know," Lady Catelyn replied.

_Thankfully,_ thought Selene. _Otherwise it might well have come to that, knowing Walder Frey._

Selene spoke up, "Come to think of it, I remember you mentioning, lord uncle, that you _did_ want to find a way to make amends for your Battle of the Fords."

"I had in mind a different sort of amends. Single combat with the Kingslayer. Seven years of penance as a begging brother. Swimming the sunset sea with my legs tied." When he saw that no one was smiling, Edmure threw up his hands. "The Others take you all! Very well, I'll wed the wench. As _amends._ "

###

Robb was everywhere and anywhere, riding at the head of the van with Selene, scouting with Grey Wind, racing back to Robin Flint and the rearguard. Men said proudly that the Young Wolf was the first to rise each dawn and the last to sleep at night, but Selene wondered whether he was sleeping at all. _He lies beside me through the night, but I haven't seen his eyes closed in days,_ Selene thought. _He grows as lean and hungry as his direwolf._

"I'll try to help him sleep," Selene said to Lady Catelyn, ahorsed beside her.

"Your Grace has a loving heart, I see," said Lame Lothar Frey, who had overheard. "Not unlike my own sisters. Why, I would wager a guess that even now Roslin is dancing around the Twins chanting 'Lady _Tully_ , Lady _Tully_ , Lady _Roslin_ Tully.' By the morrow she'll be holding swatches of Riverrun red-and-blue to her cheek to picture how she'll look in her bride's cloak." He turned in his saddle to smile at Edmure. "But you are strangely quiet, Lord Tully. How do _you_ feel, I wonder?"

"Much as I did at the Stone Mill just before the warhorns sounded," Edmure said, only half in jest.

Lothar gave a good-natured laugh, "Let us pray your marriage ends as happily, my lord."

_And may the gods protect us if it does not._ Selene pressed her heels into her horse, leaving Catelyn, Edmure, and Lame Lothar to each other's company.

It had been Catelyn who had insisted that Selene remain at Riverrun while Robb, his uncle, and his host travel to the Twins for the wedding. Robb wanted her by his side, and said as much to his mother. Catelyn had argued that Selene's presence would be salt in the old man's wounds. "Walder Frey has a sharp tongue and a long memory," Catelyn had warned them. "It would not do well for him to see your young, pregnant wife beside you, outshining his own daughters. I do not doubt that you are strong enough to suffer the old man's rebukes as the price of his allegiance, Selene, but Robb has too much of his father in him to sit there while Lord Walder insults you to your face."

Robb could not deny the sense of that, but Selene had said, "I am to be Lord Walder's queen. I will not hide from him out of fear like a child." She had to remind Robb of the promise they made when she returned from the stormlands. "No more separating."

Remembering, Robb nodded.

They had left the Blackfish back in Riverrun to hold the castle. Robb had even created him a new title, Warden of the Southern Marches. Ser Brynden would hold the Trident, if any man could. Nonetheless, Selene would miss the Blackfish's craggy face and wise counsel. Galbart Glover had taken command of the scouts and outriders in his place; a good man, loyal and steady, but without the Blackfish's brilliance.

Riding was becoming more and more difficult for Selene as her belly swelled. Almost as if he could sense it, Thunder's stride was gentler. Selene retched in the mornings regulary, and was exhausted by midday. She had grown strangely partial to barley, but the smell of meat was enough to make her sick. Ser Barristan had tried to get her to lie in a cart.

"There is no shame in it, Your Grace," Ser Barristan said, eyes on her stomach. She had missed three moonbloods, and now her stomach pressed against the clothes that had fit her perfectly only a short while ago.

Selene smiled at her white knight, "I expect I will have to travel that way soon enough, Ser Barristan. But I wish to ride, as long as I can."

The drizzle that had sent them off turned into a soft steady rain by midday, and continued well past nightfall. The next day the men never saw the sun at all, but rode beneath leaden skies with their hoods pulled up to keep the water from their eyes. It was a heavy rain, turning roads to mud and fields to quagmires, swelling the rivers and stripping the trees of their leaves. The constant patter made idle chatter more bother than it was worth, so men only spoke when they had something to say, and that was seldom enough.

"We are stronger than we seem, Your Grace," her cousin Ser Andrew Estermont said as they rode. Dacey Mormont quickly agreed. Selene had grown fond of their company, as they were both of an age with her. She could also see that they had grown fond of each other, with Dacey blushing hard whenever Ser Andrew laughed at one of her jests, and Ser Andrew stumbling over his words when Dacey looked him in the eyes. That made Selene happy. _Love blooming in the midst of war._

"I have fought beside the Young Wolf in every battle," Dacey Mormont said cheerfully. "He had not lost one yet."

_No, but we have lost everything else,_ Selene thought, but it would not do to say it aloud. The northmen and stormlanders did not lack for courage, but they were far from home, with little enough to sustain them but their faith in the young sovereigns. Whenever they made camp, she and Robb studied the maps until their eyes burned, looking for some hidden plan that would win back the north.

As the gods would have it, their route took them through the Whispering Wood where Robb had won his first great victory. They followed the course of the twisting stream on the floor of that pinched narrow valley, much as her uncle Jaime's men had done that fateful night. On that night of the Whispering Wood, Ned was still alive in his cell beneath Aegon's High Hill, Renly, Bran, and Rickon were alive and safe. _And Theon Greyjoy fought at Robb's side, and boasted of how he had almost crossed swords with her Uncle Jaime, according to Robb. Would that he had. If Theon had died in place of Lord Karstark's sons, how much ill would have been undone?_

Five days later, their scouts rode back to warn them that the rising waters had washed out the wooden bridge at Fairmarket. Galbart Glover and two of his bolder men had tried swimming their mounts across, but the water had swept them away. Glover was just able to cling to a rock until they could pull him to safety.

"The river hasn't run this high since spring," said Edmure, "and if this rain keeps falling, it will go higher yet."

"There's a bridge further upstream, near Oldstones," remembered Catelyn. "It's older and smaller, but if it still stands-"

"It's gone, my lady," Glover said. "Washed away even before the one at Fairmarket."

Selene looked at Catelyn, "Is there another bridge?"

"No. And the fords will be impassible. If we cannot cross the Blue Fork, we'll have to go around it, through Sevenstreams and Hag's Mire."

"Bogs and bad roads, or none at all," warned Edmure. "The going will be slow, but we'll get there, I suppose.

"Lord Walder will wait, I'm sure," said Robb. "Lothar sent him a bird from Riverrun, he knows we are coming."

"Yes, but the man is prickly, and suspicious by nature," said Catelyn. "He may take this delay as a deliberate insult."

Selene was starting to care less and less for Lord Walder Frey's feelings. "Very well, we'll beg his pardon for our tardiness as well. A sorry queen I'll be, apologizing for every second breath."

Robb made a wry face, "I hope Bolton got across the Trident before the rains began. The kingsroad runs straight north, he'll have an easy march. Even afoot, he should reach the Twins before us."

"And when you've joined his men to yours and seen my brother married, what then?" Catelyn asked him.

"North," Robb scratched Grey Wind behind an ear.

"By the causeway? Against Moat Caitlin?" Catelyn challenged.

He gave her an enigmatic smile, "That's one way to go."

Selene frowned. She knew from his tone that he would say no more. _A wise king keeps his own counsel, but I am his queen._ She decided to get the truth from him, later.

They reached Oldstones after eight more days of steady rain, and made their camp upon the hill overlooking the Blue Fork, within a ruined stronghold of the ancient river kings. Its foundations remained amongst the weeds to show where the walls and keeps had stood. In the center of what once would have been the castle's yard, a great carved tomb still rested, half hidden in waist-high brown grass amongst a stand of ash.

The lid of the tomb had been carved into a likeness of a man whose bones lay beneath, but the rain and wind had done their work. The king had worn a beard, but otherwise his face was smooth and feature-less, with only vague suggestions of a mouth, a nose, eyes, and the crown about his temples.

It was there Selene found Robb, standing somber in the gathering dusk with only Grey Wind beside him. The rain had stopped for once. "Does this castle have a name?" he asked quietly, when she came up to him.

"Oldstones, all the smallfolk call it," Selene knew from all her books in King's Landing, "but no doubt it had some other name when it was still a hall of kings."

"There's a song," he remembered. "Jenny of Oldstones, with the flowers in her hair."

"Would you like to see me with flowers in my hair?" Selene teased.

Robb's mind was elsewhere. He studied the statue, "Whose grave is this?"

Selene sighed, trying to remember her lessons, "Tristifer, the Fourth of His Name, King of the Rivers and the Hills. He ruled from the Trident to the Neck, thousands of years before Jenny and her prince, in the days when the kingdoms of the First Men were falling one after the other before the onslaught on the Andals. The Hammer of Justice, they called him. He fought a hundred battles and won ninety-nine, or so the singers say." She put her hand on his shoulder, "He died in his hundredth battle, when seven Andal kings joined forces against him. The fifth Tristifer was not his equal, and soon the kingdom was lost, and then the castle, and last of all the line. With Tristifer the Fifth died House Mudd, that had ruled the riverlands for a thousand years before the Andals came."

"His heir failed him." Robb ran a hand over the rough weathered stone. "It is still a long time until our child is born."

Selene placed a hand on her stomach. According to the maesters, she still had six turns of the moon to go before she would bear her child. _So long…too long…_

"Robb…"

"If I should die in my next battle, the kingdom must not die with me. What if something happens to you, or our child? By law Sansa is next in line of succession, so Winterfell and the north would pass to her." His mouth tightened. "To her, and her lord husband. I know how much you love your uncle, but I _can't_ allow a Lannister to be Lord of Winterfell."

"Name an heir, until I give you a son." Selene considered a moment. "Don't you have distant relations in the Vale? A Waynewood or a Corbray?"

"Selene, you forget. My father had four sons."

Selene's blood went cold. She did not forget. She had tried to forget, yet there it was. "A Snow is not a Stark."

"Jon's more a Stark than some lordlings from the Vale who have never so much as set eyes on Winterfell."

Selene remembered Jon as he was the last time she saw him, standing tall in his black cloak, her silver chain around his neck. The idea of Jon as a legitimate son felt strange. _Isn't this what Jon desires most in the world?_ "Jon is a brother of the Night's Watch, sworn to take no wife and hold no lands." _And how much that pained me, a lifetime ago._ "Those who take the black serve for life."

"If I send the Watch a hundred men in Jon's place, I'll wager they find some way to release him from his vows."

_He is set on this._ Selene knew how stubborn her husband could be. "A bastard cannot inherit."

"Not unless he's legitimized by a royal decree," said Robb. "There is more precedent for that than for releasing a Sworn Brother from his oath."

"Precedent," Selene said sadly. "Yes, Aegon the Fourth legitimized all his bastards on his deathbed. And how much pain, grief, war, and murder grew from that? I know you trust Jon, but can you trust his sons? Or _their_ sons? The Blackfyre pretenders troubled the Targaryens for five generations until Ser Barristan slew the last of them on the Stepstones. If you make Jon legitimate, there is no way to turn him bastard again. Should he have children, any sons of ours will never be safe."

"Jon would never harm a son of mine."

"I know _he_ wouldn't, but-"

"Jon is the only brother that remains to me. Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North. I had hoped you would support my choice. I remember how well you defended him back in Winterfell. You brought him to our table, and yet now you speak against him. Why?"

For a moment, Selene wanted to tell Robb the truth, but those words would not come. The war had done enough to her husband, she would not add the pain of knowing his wife had loved another, and his brother besides. "Not against him, Robb. Never against him. He is my own brother, by all the laws of marriage, but I worry for our children."

"And if we should fall?" he asked. "And all we leave behind is a babe? No. Jon will be regent until our son or daughter comes of age, or-"

"Or king, if none of us survive?"

"Yes." Robb's voice was steel.

Selene remembered Maggy the Frog's prediction, about her and Robb ruling for decades, of her children…She smiled, "If that's what you think is best, Robb. I doubt we'll need such precautions." _We'll have no need of that. Of Jon..._ It had been a while since Selene had thought of Jon Snow. Her silver Baratheon crown was still locked away, kept safe by Ser Barristan, so she hadn't had another vision of him, and he wasn't able to see her either. It was for the best. _Jon was loved by the girl I was. The innocent, trusting girl who still had a family. The woman I am, the mother I will be…my heart belongs to Robb now._

Day followed day, and still the rain kept falling. All the way up the Blue Fork they rode, past Sevenstreams where the river unraveled into a confusion of rills and brooks, and through Hag's Mire. The going was worse than slow.

Lord Jason Mallister caught up with them amidst the bogs of Hag's Mire. There was more than an hour of daylight remaining when he rode up with his column, but Robb called a halt at once.

Grey Wind slept at Robb's feet, while Eleni lay flat on her belly by Selene's side, tail flicking lazily back and forth. The Greatjon, Galbart Glover, Maege Mormont, Catelyn, and Edmure were there, and a man that Selene did not know, a fleshy balding man with a cringing look to him. _No lordling, that one,_ she knew the moment she laid eyes on him. _Not even a warrior._

Jason Mallister bowed deeply to Selene. His hair had almost as much white in it as brown, but the Lord of Seaguard was still a handsome man; tall and lean, with a chiseled clean-shaven face, high cheekbones, and fierce blue-grey eyes. "Queen Selene, it is ever a pleasure. I bring good tidings, I hope."

"We are in sore need of some, my lord," Selene said, rain pattering down noisily against the canvas overhead.

Robb waited for the tent flap to close behind his squire. "The gods have heard our prayers, my lords. Jason Mallister has brought us a captain of the _Myraham,_ a merchanter out of Oldtown. Captain, tell them what you told me."

"Aye, Your Grace," He licked his thick lips nervously. "My last port of call afore Seaguard, that was Lordsport on Pyke. The ironmen kept me there more'n half year, they did. King Balon's command. Only, well, the long and the short of it is, he's dead."

"Balon Greyjoy?" Selene's heart skipped a beat. "You are telling us that Balon Greyjoy is dead?"

The shabby little captain blushed under Selene's gaze, "Yes, Your Grace. You know how Pyke's built on a headland, and part on rocks and islands off the shore, with bridges between? The way I heard it in Lordsport, there was a blow coming in from the west, rain and thunder, and old King Balon was crossing one of them bridges when the wind got hold of it and just tore the thing to pieces. He washed up two days later, all bloated and broken. Crabs ate his eyes, I hear."

The Greatjon laughed, "King crabs, I hope, to sup upon such royal jelly, eh?"

The captain bobbed his head, "Aye, but that's not all of it, no!" He leaned forward. "The _brother's_ back."

"Victarion?" asked Glover, surprised.

"Euron. Crow's Eye, they call him, as black a pirate as ever raised a sail. He's been gone for years, but Lord Balon was no sooner cold than there he was sailing into Lordsport in his _Silence._ Black sails and a red hull, and crewed by mutes. He'd been to Asshai and back, I heard. Wherever he was, though, he's home now, and he marched right into Pyke and sat his arse in the Seastone Chair, and drowned Lord Botely in a cask of seawater when he objected. That was when I ran back to my ship and slipped anchor, hoping I could get away whilst things were still confused. And so I did, and here I am."

"Captain," said Robb when the man was done, "you have my thanks, and you will not go unrewarded. Lord Jason will take you back to your ship when we are done. Pray, wait outside."

"That I will, Your Grace. That I will."

No sooner had he left the king's pavilion than the Greatjon began to laugh, but Robb silenced him with a look, "Euron Greyjoy is no man's notion of a king, if half of what Theon said of him was true. Theon is the rightful heir, unless he's dead…but Victarion commands the Iron Fleet. I can't believe he would remain at Moat Caitlin while Euron Crow's Eye holds the Seastone Chair. He _has_ to go back."

"There's a daughter as well," Selene reminded them. "The one who holds Deepwood Motte, and Robett Glover's wife and child."

"If she stays at Deepwood Motte that's _all_ she can hope to hold," said Robb. "What's true for the brothers is even truer for her. She will need to sail home to outst Euron and press her own claim." Robb turned to Lord Jason Mallister, "You have a fleet at Seaguard?"

"A fleet, Your Grace? Half a dozen longships and two war galleys. Enough to defend my own shores against raiders, but I could not hope to meet the Iron Fleet in battle."

"Nor would I ask it of you. The ironborn will be setting sail toward Pyke, I expect. Theon told me how his people think. Every captain is a king on their own deck. They will all want a voice in the succession. My lord, I need two of your longships to sail around the Cape of Eagles and up the Neck to Greywater Watch."

Lord Jason hesitated, "A dozen streams drain the wetwood, all shallow, silty, and unchartered. I would not even call them rivers. The channels are ever drifting and changing. There are endless sandbars, deadfalls, and tangles of rotting trees. And Greywater Watch _moves._ How are my ships to find it?"

"Go upriver flying my banner. The crannogmen will find you. I want two ships to double the chances of my message reaching Howland Reed. Lady Maege shall go in one, Galbart Glover the other." He turned to the two he named, "You'll carry letters for those lords of mine who remain in the north, but all the commands within them will be false, in case you have the misfortune to be taken. If that happens, you must tell them that you were sailing for the north. Back to Bear Island, or the Stony Shore." He tapped a finger on the map. "Moat Caitlin is the key. Lord Balon knew that, which is why he sent his brother Victarion there with the hard heart of the Greyjoy strength."

"Succession squabbles or no, the ironborn are not such fools as to abandon Moat Caitlin," said Lady Maege.

"No," Robb admitted. "Victarion will leave the best part of his garrison, I'd guess. Every man he takes will be one less man we need to fight, however. And he _will_ take many of his captains, count on that. The leaders. He will need such men to speak for him if he hopes to sit the Seastone Chair."

"You cannot mean to attack up the causeway, Your Grace," said Galbart Glovern. "The approaches are too narrow. There is no way to deploy. No one has ever taken the Moat."

"From the south," said Selene with a smile. She had Robb go over his plan with her earlier, and had added her own ideas, "But if we can attack from the north and west simultaneously, and take the ironmen in the rear while they are beating off what they think is our main thrust up the causeway, then we have a chance. Once we link up with Lord Bolton and the Freys, we will have more than fourteen thousand men. We will divide them into three battles and start up the causeway a half-day apart. If the Greyjoys have eyes south of the Neck, they will see the whole strength rushing headlong at Moat Caitlin."

"Roose Bolton will have the rearguard," said Robb. "While Selene and I command the center. Greatjon, you shall lead the van against Moat Caitlin. Your attack must be so fierce that the ironborn have no leisure to wonder if anyone is creeping down on them from the north."

The Greatjon chuckled, "Your creepers best come fast, or my men will swarm those walls and win the Moat before you show your face. I'll make a gift of it to you when you come dawdling up."

"That's a gift we should be glad to have," said Selene.

Edmure was frowning. "You talk of attacking the ironmen in the rear, sire, but how do you mean to get north of them?"

"There are ways through the Neck that are not on any map, Uncle," Robb said. "Ways known only to the crannogmen - narrow trails between the bogs, and wet roads thought the reeds that only boats can follow." He turned to his messengers, "Tell Howland Reed that he is to send guides to me, two days after I have started up the causeway. To the _center_ battle, where my own standard flies. Three hosts will leave the Twins, but only two will reach Moat Caitlin. Mine own battle will melt away into the Neck, to reemerge on the other side. If we move swiftly once my uncle's wed, we can all be in position by year's end. We will fall upon the Moat from three sides on the first day of the century, as the ironmen are waking with hammers beating at their heads from the mead they'll quaff the night before."

"I like this plan," said the Greatjon. "I like it well."

Glover rubbed his mouth, "There are risks. If the crannogmen should fail you…"

"We will be no worse than before, but they will not fail. My father knew the worth of Howland Reed." Robb rolled up the map, and only then looked at his mother, "Mother."

Catelyn tensed, "Do you have some part in this for me?"

"Your part is to stay safe. Our journey to the Neck will be dangerous, and naught but battle awaits us in the north. Lord Mallister has kindly offered to escort you back to Riverrun, to keep you safe until the war is done."

Catelyn's anger was apparent on her face.

"My lady," Selene tried, "it's best you do not come with us."

"Riverrun will be brightened by your presence, Lady Catelyn," said Lord Jason Mallister.

"You would make me a prisoner," she said.

"An honored guest," Selene insisted. "You would be going home."

Catelyn turned to her son. "Winterfell is my home. I would sooner stay by your side."

"My wife is by my side. I want my mother elsewhere. If you keep all your treasures in one purse, you only make it easier for those who would rob you. After the wedding, you shall go back to Riverrun. That is my royal command." Robb stood, picking up a sheet of parchment. "One more matter. Lord Balon has left chaos in his wake, we hope. I would not do the same. Yet I have no son as yet, my brothers Bran and Rickon are dead, and my sister is wed to a Lannister. I've thought long and hard about who might follow me. I command you now as my true and loyal lords to fix your seals to this document as witnesses to my decision."

_A king indeed,_ Selene thought.


	35. The Rains of Castamere

As Selene and Robb neared the Twins, they donned their crowns and summoned Catelyn, Edmure, and Ser Barristan to ride beside them.

The gatehouse towers emerged from the rain like ghosts, hazy grey apparitions that grew more solid the closer they rode. The Frey stronghold was not one castle but two; mirror images in wet stone standing on opposite sides of the water, linked by a great arched bridge. From the center of its span rose the Water Tower, the river running straight and swift below. Channels had been cut from the banks to form moats that made each twin an island.

Across the turbulent waters, Selene could see a thousand men encamped around the eastern castle, their banners hanging damply. The rain made it impossible to distinguish their colors, but they could only be Lord Bolton's men, along with Lord Walder's own forces.

"Tread lightly here, Robb," Lady Catelyn cautioned. "Lord Walder has a thin skin and a sharp tongue, and some of these sons of his will doubtless take after their father. You must not let yourself be provoked."

"I know the Freys, Mother. I know how much I _need_ them. I shall be as sweet as a septon."

Lady Catelyn shifted in her seat uncomfortably. "Queen Selene…"

Selene smiled, "My lady, you are my own mother by marriage. Please call me Selene, and speak freely."

"Selene, you've inherited your father's bold nature and your Uncle Tyrion's quick wit, but...you need to watch your tongue here."

Selene sighed, "Yes, I know."

"If we are offered refreshment when we arrive, on no account refuse. Take what is offered, and eat and drink where all can see. If nothing if offered, ask for bread and cheese and a cup of wine."

"I'm more wet than hungry…" Robb started.

"Robb, _listen to me._ Once you have eaten of his bread and salt, you have the guest right, and the laws of hospitality protect you both beneath his roof."

Selene was more amused than afraid. "We have an army to protect us, my lady. We don't need to trust in bread and salt. But if it pleases Lord Walder to serve me stewed crow smothered in maggots, I'll eat it and ask for a second bowl."

Four Freys rode out of the western gatehouse, wrapped in heavy cloaks of thick grey wool. "Ser Ryman Frey," Edmure told them, "son of the late Stevron Frey and heir to the Twins. Edywn, his eldest, the pale slender man with the constipated look. The wiry one with the beard is Black Walder, a nasty bit of business. Petyr is the lad with the unfortunate face. Petry Pimple, his brothers call him. Gods, I hope Roslin doesn't take after _him._ "

They halted to let their hosts come to them. Grey Wind and Eleni edged forward, tails stiff, watching through slitted eyes. When the Freys were a half-dozen yards away, Selene heard Grey Wind growl, and Eleni grumble.

Robb looked startled, "Grey Wind, to me. To _me!_ "

Selene was quick to follow. "Eleni," she called sharply.

Instead, the beasts leapt forward, snarling.

Ser Ryman's palfrey shied off with a whinny of fear, and Petyr Pimple's reared and threw its rider. Black Walder reached for the hilt of his sword.

" _No!_ " Robb shouted. "Grey Wind, here. _Here._ "

Selene spurred Thunder between the direwolf, lioness, and the horses. Mud spattered from her horse's hooves as he cut in front of their beasts. The wolf veered away, and only then seemed to hear Robb calling. Eleni just froze, staring up at Selene with interest.

"Is this how the Starks make amends?" Black Walder shouted, with naked steel in his hand. "A poor greeting, I call it, to set your wolf and lion upon us. Is this why you've come?"

"Put away your steel," Ser Barristan commanded with a hard voice.

Black Walder looked at Selmy warily, his sword dipping, but he did not sheathe it.

Ser Ryman had dismounted to help Petyr Pimple back to his feet. The lad was muddy, but unhurt.

"I've come to make my apology for the wrong I did your House, and to see my uncle wed." Robb swung down from his saddle. "Petyr, take my horse. Yours is almost back to the stable."

Petyr looked to his father and said, "I can ride behind one of my brothers."

The Freys made no signs of homage. "You come late." Ser Ryman declared.

"The rains delayed us," said Selene. "We sent a bird."

"You are the girl."

Selene gripped Thunder's reigns tightly, but her smile was sweet, "I am Queen Selene of Houses Baratheon and Stark, yes."

Finally, Black Walder sheathed his sword, but his tone was no friendlier. "My grandfather is eager to behold you with his own eyes."

Edywn cleared his throat. "We have chambers prepared for you and your queen in the Water Tower, Your Grace," he told Robb with careful courtesy, "as well as for the Lord Tully and Lady Stark. Your lords bannermen are also welcome to shelter under our roof and partake of the wedding feast."

"And our men?" asked Robb.

"My lord grandfather regrets that he cannot feed nor house so large a host. We have been sore pressed to find fodder for our own levies. Nonetheless, your men shall not be neglected. If they will cross and set up their camp beside our own, we will bring out enough casks of wine and ale for all to drink to the health of Lord Edmure and his bride. We have thrown up three great feast tents on the far bank, to provide them with some shelter from the rains."

"Your lord father is most kind," Selene said. "Our men will thank him. They have had a long wet ride."

Edmure Tully edged his horse forward, "When shall I meet my betrothed?"

"She waits for you within," promised Edwyn Frey. "You will forgive her if she seems shy, I know. She has been awaiting this day most anxiously, poor maid. But perhaps we might continue this out of the rain?"

"Truly," Ser Ryman mounted up again, pulling Petyr Pimple up behind him. "If you would follow me, my father awaits." He turned his palfrey's head back toward the Twins.

Edmure fell in beside Selene, Robb, and Catelyn. "The Late Lord Frey might have seen fit to welcome us in person," he complained. "I am his liege lord as well as his son-to-be, and Robb and Selene his king and queen."

"When you are one-and-ninety, Brother, see how eager _you_ are to go riding in the rain," Lady Catelyn snapped.

Selene wondered if that was the whole truth of it. Lord Walder could have used a covered litter, which would have kept the worst of the rain off him. _A deliberate slight?_ If so, it might be the first of many yet to come.

Ser Barristan trotted to Selene's side, "Your Grace, I like Eleni's reaction not."

Selene bit her lip, "Nor do I, my white knight. But what am I to make of it?"

He did not have an answer.

There was more trouble at the gatehouse. Eleni recoiled in the middle of the drawbridge. Grey Wind howled at the portcullis. Robb whistled impatiently. "Grey Wind. What is it? Grey Wind, with me." But the direwolf only bared his teeth. Robb had to squat and speak softly to the wolf before he would consent to pass beneath the gate. Eleni was pacing around Selene in a circle, preventing her from walking.

" _Eleni,_ " Selene reprimanded sharply. The lioness tugged on Selene's hand with her teeth, trying to pull her back. Selene heard a few gasps. It must have looked like Eleni was trying to rip her hand off, but her teeth were gentle, if not a little firm.

Selene went to her knees, speaking softly to her companion, "Eleni, be good." The lioness whimpered, licking her face desperately. Selene laughed, "Easy, girl." Eleni nuzzled Selene's face lovingly, as she was wont to do. Selene raked her fingers along the lion's chin. _My oldest friend. My protector. I've never seen her like this._

By then Lame Lothar and Walder Rivers had come up. "It's the sound of the water they fear," Rivers said. "Beasts know to avoid the river in flood."

"A dry kennel and a few legs of mutton will see them right again," said Lothar cheerfully. "Shall I summon our master of hounds?"

"He's a direwolf, not a dog," said Robb, "and dangerous to men he does not trust."

Selene nodded, "We shouldn't take them into Lord Walder's hall like this. Lady Dacey, stay with them, please." Neither Grey Wind nor Eleni would hurt the Mormont girl.

Gout and brittle bones had taken their toll on old Walder Frey. They found him propped up in his high seat with a cushion beneath him and an ermine robe across his lap. His chair was black oak, it's backed carved into the semblance of two stout towers joined by an arched bridge, so massive that its embrace turned the old man into a grotesque child. There was something of the vulture about Lord Walder, and rather more of the weasel. His bald head, spotted with age, thrust out from his scrawny shoulders on a long pink neck. Loose skin dangled beneath his receding chin, his eyes were runny and clouded, and his toothless mouth moved constant, sucking at the empty air.

The eighth Lady Frey stood beside Lord Walder's high seat. At his feet sat a somewhat younger version of himself, a stopped thin man of fifty whose costly garb of blue wool and grey satin was strangely accented by a crown and collar ornamented with tiny brass bells. The likeness between him and his lord was striking, save for their eyes; old Frey's small, dim, and suspicious, and the other's large, amiable, and vacant. Selene recalled that one of Lord Walder's brood had fathered a half-wit long ago. _Did the fool always wear a fool's crown, or is that meant as a mockery to us?_ It was a question she dared not ask.

Frey sons, daughters, children, grandchildren, husbands, wives, and servants crowded the rest of the hall. But it was the old man who spoke. "You will forgive me if I do not kneel, I know. My legs no longer work as they did, though that which hangs between 'em serves well enough, _heh."_ His mouth split into a toothless smile as he eyed Robb's crown. "Some would say it's a poor king who crowns himself with bronze, Your Grace."

"Bronze and iron are stronger than gold and silver," Robb answered. "The old Kings of Winter wore such a sword-crown."

"Small good it did them when the dragons came. _Heh."_ The _heh_ seemed to please the lackwit, who bobbed his head from side to side, jingling crown and collar. "Sire," Lord Walder said, "forgive my Aegon the noise. He has less wits than a crannogman, and he's never met a king before. One of Stevron's boys. We call him Jinglebell."

"Ser Stevron mentioned him, my lord." Robb smiled at the lackwit. "Well met, Aegon. Your father was a brave man."

Jinglebell jingled his bells. A thin line of spit ran from one corner of his mouth when he smiled.

"Save your royal breath. You'd do as well talking to a chamberpot." Lord Walder shifted his gaze to the others. "Well, Lady Catelyn, I see you have returned to us. Ser Barristan the Bold, or the _old,_ it would seem. And young Ser Edmure, the victor of the Stone Mill. Lord Tully now, I'll need to remember that. You're the fifth Lord Tully I've known. I outlived the other four, _heh._ Your bride's about here somewhere. I suppose you want to look at her."

"I would, my lord."

"Then you'll have it. But clothed. She's a modest girl and a maid. You won't see her naked till the bedding." Lord Walder cackled. " _Heh_. Soon enough, soon enough." He craned his head about. "Benefrey, go fetch your sister. Be quick about it, Lord Tully's come all this way from Riverrun." A young knight in a quartered surcoat bowed and took his leave, and the old man turned back to Robb. "And _your_ bride, Your Grace? The famed beauty, Queen Selene. A Baratheon of King's Landing, and princess-born besides."

"Here, my lord," Robb said, extending his hand to take Selene's. He led her forward, "I have the honor of introducing my wife, Selene of House Baratheon, the First of Her Name, Rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Queen in the North and of the Trident, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

"That's a lot of titles," Lord Walder said, unimpressed. "Come closer. Let me have a look at you."

Selene took a few steps forward.

Lord Walder leaned forward in his chair, frowning. "Still can't see you." He pointed to his face, "Old eyes."

_He's toying with me,_ she thought angrily. Selene gave Robb a sidelong glance. His hand was tight around the sheath of his sword.

Selene took a few more steps forward.

Lord Walder leaned back in his chair, "You're Cersei's, alright. The realm's delight, truly, _heh_. I'm told our King in the North married you for love."

_We were promised,_ Selene thought fiercely, but held her tongue and kept her face calm.

"Love..." Lord Walder continued, "That's what the Starks of Winterfell call it, _heh._ Very honorable. I call it a pretty face. Hmmm, very pretty."

_Don't be provoked,_ Selene told herself. _I_ _f I act, he wins._

"Prettier than this lot, that's for sure," Lord Walder croaked as he looked about his hall. His eyes fixed on Selene's dress. "Even with child, you are as lovely as the dawn. I bet when you take that dress off, everything stays right where it is."

Selene joined her hands over her stomach, and dug her fingernails into her palms so hard she drew blood.

"Your husband says he betrayed me for love." Lord Walder raised a brow, "I say he betrayed me for firm tits and a tight fit."

Selene heard Robb take a step forward, and also the sound of someone stopping him from advancing.

"And I can respect that. When I was your age, I'd have broken a thousand oaths to get into any daughter of Cersei Lannister without a second thought. I hear you are quite gifted with a sword, Your Grace."

"I know how to wield one," said Selene, purposefully ignoring the double meaning.

"The King in the North must thank the gods every night for that."

Robb suffered the abuse with dignity, "No words can set this right, I know, but I have come to make my apologies for the wrong I did your House, and to beg for your forgiveness, my lord."

"Apologies, _heh._ Yes, you vowed to make one, I recall. I'm old, but I don't forget such things. Not like some kings, it seems. The young remember nothing when they see a pretty face and a nice firm pair of teats, isn't that so? I was the same. Some might say I still am, _heh heh._ They'd be wrong, though, wrong as you were. But now you're here to make amends. It was my girls you spurned, though. Mayhaps it's them should hear you beg for pardon, Your Grace. My maiden girls. Here, have a look on at them." When he waggled his fingers, a flurry of skirts left their places by the walls to line up beneath the dais. Jinglebell started to rise as well, his bells ringing merrily, but Lady Frey grabbed the lackwit's sleeve and tugged him back down.

Lord Walder named the names. "My daughter Arwyn," he said of a girl of fourteen. "Shirei, my youngest trueborn daughter. Ami and Marianne are granddaughters. I married Ami to Ser Pate of Sevenstreams, but the Mountain killed the oaf so I got her back. There's a Cersei, but we call her Little Bee, her mother's a Beesbury. More granddaughters. One's a Walda, and the others…well, they have names, whatever they are…"

"I'm Merry, Lord Grandfather," one girl said.

"You're noisy, that's for certain. Next to Noisy is my daughter Tyta. Then another Walda. Alyx, Marissa...are you Marissa? I thought you were. She's not always bald. The maester shaved her hair off, but he swears it will soon grow back. The twins are Serra and Sarra." He squinted down at one of the younger girls, "Are you another Walda?"

The girl could not have been more than four. "I'm Ser Aemon River's Walda, lord great grandfather," she curtsied.

"How long have you been talking? Not that you're like to have anything sensible to say, your father never did. He's a bastard's son besides, _heh._ Go away, I only wanted Freys up here. The King in the North has no interest in base stock." Lord Walder glanced to Robb, as Jinglebell bobbed his head and chimed. "There they are, all maidens. Well, and one widow, but there's some who like a woman broken in. You might have had any one of them."

"It would have been an impossible choice, my lord," said Robb with careful courtesy. "They're all too lovely."

Lord Walder snorted, "And they say _my_ eyes are bad. Some will do well enough, I suppose. Others…well, it makes no matter. They weren't good enough for the King in the North, _heh._ Only a princess will do for him, it seems. Now what is it you have to say?"

"My ladies," Robb looked desperately uncomfortable, but he had known this moment must come, and he faced it without flinching. "All men should keep their word, kings most of all. I was pledged to marry one of you and I broke that vow. The fault is not in you. What I did was not done to slight you, but because my father had promised me to another," Robb's eyes fixed on Selene. "To a woman I love. No words can set it right, I know, yet I come before you to ask forgiveness, that the Freys of the Crossing and the Starks of Winterfell may once again be friends."

"Good," the Lord of the Crossing said. "That was very good, Your Grace. 'No words can set it right', _heh._ Well said, well said. At the wedding feast I hope you will not refuse to dance with my daughters. It would please an old man's heart." He bobbed his wrinkled head up and down. "And here she is, Lord Edmure. My daughter Roslin, my most precious little blossom, _heh._ "

Ser Benefrey led her into the hall. They looked enough alike to be full siblings. Judging from their age, both were children of the sixth Lady Frey; a Rosby, Selene struggled to recall.

Roslin was small for her years, her skin as white as if she had just risen from a milk bath. Her face was comely, with a small chin, delicate nose, and big brown eyes. Thick chestnut hair fell in loose waves to a waist so tiny that Edmure would be able to put his hand around it. Beneath the lacy bodice of her pale blue gown, her breasts looked small but shapely.

"Your Grace," the girl went to her knees. "Lord Edmure, I hope I am not a disappointment to you."

_Far from it,_ thought Selene. Edmure's face had lit up at the sight of her, "You are a delight to me, my lady," Edmure said. "And ever will be, I know."

Roslin had a small gap between two of her front teeth that made her shy with her smiles, but the flaw was almost endearing. _Pretty enough,_ Selene thought, _but so small, and she comes of Rosby stock._ The Rosbys had never been robust.

"My lord is kind," Lady Roslin said.

"My lady is beautiful." Edmure took her hand and drew her to her feet. "But why are you crying?"

"For joy," Roslin said. "I weep for joy, my lord."

" _Enough_ ," Lord Walder broke in. "You may weep and whisper after you're wed, _heh._ Benefrey, see your sister back to her chambers, she has a wedding to prepare for. And a bedding, _heh,_ the sweetest part. For all, for all. We'll have music, such sweet music, and wine, _heh,_ the red will run, and we'll put some wrongs aright. But now you're weary, and wet as well, dripping on my floor. There are fires waiting for you, and hot mulled wine, and baths if you want 'em. Lothar, show our guests their quarters."

"I need to see my men across the river, my lord," Robb said.

"They shan't get lost," Lord Walder complained. "They've crossed before, haven't they? When you came down from the north. But suit yourself. Lead each man across by the hand if you like, it's naught to me."

" _My lord!"_ Catelyn cried suddenly. "Some food would be most welcome. We have ridden many leagues in the rain."

Walder Frey's mouth twitched, "Food. A loaf of bread, a bit of cheese, mayhaps a sausage."

"Some wine to wash it down," Robb said. "And salt."

"Bread and salt. Of course, of course." The old man clapped his hands together, and servants came into the hall, bearing flagons of wine and trays of bread, cheese, and butter. Lord Walder took a cup of red himself, and raised it high with a spotted hand, "My guests. My honored guests. Be welcome beneath my roof, and at my table."

"We thank you for your hospitality, my lord," Selene said with a smile she hoped was courteous. Robb echoed her, along with Edmure, Catelyn, and others. They drank his wine and at his bread and butter. Selene tasted the wine and nibbled on some bread. _The guest rite,_ Selene thought, _now we are more than safe._

Knowing how petty the old man could be, she half expected their rooms to be bleak and cheerless. But the Freys had made more than ample provision for them, it seemed. The suite Robb and Selene were to share was large and richly adorned, dominated by a great featherbed and corner posts. Its draperies were Stark grey and white, a nice courtesy. Sweet smelling carpets covered a plank floor, and a tall shuttered window opened to the south. A great fire burned in the hearth as Robb and Selene undressed, hung their wet clothes by the fire, and donned warm dry wool. By the time Selene finished running a brush over her curls, their lords bannermen arrived to their temporary solar.

Robin Flint, Ser Wendel Manderly, the Great and Smalljon were all damp and somber as they entered. Last to enter was a man in a pale pink cloak trimmed with white fur.

"Well met, Lord Bolton," Selene said.

"Queen Selene," he replied, his voice faint. "It is a pleasure to look on you again, even in such trying times."

"You are kind to say so." Selene could feel the gloom in the room. Even the Greatjon seemed somber and subdued. She placed a hand over her stomach and looked at their grim faces and asked, "What's happened?"

"Lannisters on the Trident," said Ser Wendel unhappily. "My brother is taken again."

"And Lord Bolton has brought is further word of Winterfell," Robb added. "Ser Rodrik was not the only good man to die. Cley Cerwyn, only a boy, and Leobald Tallhart were slain as well."

"Is this true, then?" Selene said sadly. "All dead, and Winterfell gone?"

Bolton's pale eyes met her own, "The ironmen burned both castle and winter town. Some of your people were taken back to the Dreadfort by my son, Ramsay."

"Your bastard was accused of grievous crimes," Selene reminded him sharply. "Of murder, rape, and worse."

"Yes," Roose Bolton said. "His blood is tainted, that cannot be denied. Yet he is a good fighter, as cunning as he is fearless. When the ironmen cut down Ser Rodrik, it fell to Ramsay to lead the battle, and he did. He swears that he shall not sheathe his sword so long as a single Greyjoy remains in the north. Perhaps such service might atone in some small measure for whatever crimes his bastard blood has led him to commit." He shrugged, "Or not. When the war is done, His Grace must weigh and judge. By then I hope to have a trueborn son by Lady Walda."

_As cold as he is quiet,_ Selene realized.

"Did Ramsay mention Theon Greyjoy?" Robb demanded. "Was he slain as well, or did he flee?"

Roose Bolton removed a ragged strip of leather from the pouch at his belt, "My son sent this with his letter."

Ser Wendel turned his fat face away. Robin Flint and Smalljon Umber exchanged a look, and the Greatjon snorted like a bull.

"Is that...skin?" asked Selene.

"The skin from the little finger of Theon Greyjoy's left hand. My son is cruel, I confess it. And yet...what is a little skin, against the lives of two young princes?" Lord Bolton looked at Lady Catelyn, "You were their mother, my lady. May I offer you this...small token of revenge?"

Catelyn looked torn, "Put it away. Please."

"Flaying Theon will not bring my brothers back," Robb said. "I want his head, not his skin."

"He is Balon Greyjoy's only living son," Lord Bolton said softly, as if they had forgotten, "and now rightful King of the Iron Islands. A captive king has great value as a hostage."

"Hostage?" asked Catelyn, incredulous. And Selene knew why. _Hostages are often exchanged._ "Lord Bolton, I hope you are not suggesting that we _free_ the man who killed my sons."

"Whoever wins the Seastone Chair will want Theon Greyjoy dead," Bolton pointed out. "Even in chains, he has a better claim that any of his uncles. Hold him, I say, and demand concessions from the ironborn as the price of his execution."

Robb considered that reluctantly, but in the end he nodded, "Yes. Very well. Keep him alive, then. For the present. Hold him secure at the Dreadfort till we've retaken the north."

Selene turned back to Lord Bolton, "Ser Wendel said something of Lannisters on the Trident?"

"He did, Your Grace. I blame myself. I delayed too long before leaving Harrenhal. Aenys Frey departed several days before me and crossed the Trident at the ruby ford, though not without difficulty. But by the time we came up the river was a torrent. I had no choice but to ferry my men across in small boats, of which we had too few. Two-thirds of my strength was on the north side when the Lannisters attacked those waiting to cross. Norrey, Locke, and Burley men chiefly, with Ser Wylis Manderly and his White Harbor knights as rear guard. I was on the wrong side of the Trident, powerless to help them. Ser Wylis rallied our men as best he could, but Gregor Clegane attacked with heavy horse and drove them into the river. As many drowned as were cut down. More fled, and the rest were taken captive."

Gregor Clegane was always ill news. Would they need to march south again to deal with him? Or was the Mountain coming here? "Is Clegane across the river, then?"

"No," Bolton's voice was soft, but certain. "I left six hundred men at the ford. Spearmen from the rills, the mountains, and the White Knife, a hundred Hornwood longbows, some freeriders and hedge knights, and a strong force of Stout and Cerywn men to stiffen them. Lions swim no better than wolves. So long as the river runs high, Ser Gregor will not cross."

"The last thing we need is the Mountain at our backs when we start up the causeway," said Robb. "You did well, my lord."

"Your Grace is too kind. I suffered grievous losses on the Green Fork, and Glover and Tallhart worse at Duskendale."

" _Duskendale."_ Robb made the word a curse. "Robett Glover will answer for that when we see him, I promise you."

"A folly," Lord Bolton agreed, "but Glover was heedless after he learned that Deepwood Motte had fallen. Grief and fear will do that to a man."

Duskendale was done and cold. It was the battles still to come that worried Selene. "How many men have you brought us, my lord?"

His colorless eyes studied her face a moment before he answered, "Some five hundred horse, and three thousand foot, Your Grace. Dreadfort men, in chief, and some from Karhold. With the loyalty of the Karstarks so doubtful now, I thought best to keep them close. I regret there are not more."

"It should be enough," said Robb. "You will have command of my rear guard, Lord Bolton. I mean to start for the Neck as soon as my uncle has been wedded and bedded. We're going home."

###

Selene bit Robb's lower lip as she rolled her hips against his lap, where she was sitting. With a grunt, he twisted on top of her, nipping at her neck. It was enough to make her lose control.

His hands slid down her body. His entire form moving down her figure, disappearing as he shifted downward and suddenly his chest hovered above her hips, and Selene couldn't see him anymore. She could only make out the top of his head, the curve of his shoulders, the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he inhaled, exhaled. He ran his hands down and around her bare thighs, up and up again, up past her ribs, around her lower back and down again. His lips touched Selene's bare stomach. It was just a whisper of a kiss, but something collapsed in her skull. It was a feather-light brush of his mouth again skin in a place she couldn't quite see. It was her mind speaking a thousand different languages Selene didn't understand. And then she realized he was working his way up her body, leaving a trail of fire along her torso, one kiss after another, and she didn't think she could take any more of it. A whimper was building in her throat, begging to break free, and she locked her fingers in his hair and pulled him up on top of her.

Selene took his face in her hands, "I want you to always remember what I feel like. So when you're using your fingers for some other task, you wish they were touching me instead."

Robb gave her a wolfish grin, "I always do. You're mine, Selene," he said softly, pressing himself into her. "Mine alone, now and forever."

And then they were flying, flying, seeing white with gold streaks.

Panting, Robb collapsed on top of her, careful not to put too much weight on her belly. Mindlessly, she ran her fingers through his hair until he gave her a weak kiss on the forehead and rolled off of her. He sat on the edge of the great featherbed, catching his breath. Selene wrapped her arms over his shoulders and nipped his ear teasingly.

Robb laughed, "You are _insatiable._ "

"It's your son in me," she answered with a pleased grin. They had taken advantage of the few free hours they had before the wedding to spend some quality time together. There was a certain spice to fucking in Lord Walder's castle. _Mock me, my lord, but I have your king in my bed, and it's me he loves, not any of your chinless stock._

"Or daughter," Robb turned his face to kiss her, and stood to pour them water. Selene eye's followed Robb's naked form. The war had left him hard and lean, and despite their multiple beddings, she felt her desire grow again.

Selene threw her arms up and stretched in the bed like a content housecat in the sun. When she glanced over at Robb, she was happy to find him staring. Teasingly, and in one smooth effortless motion, she rolled over on her belly, her feet kicking the air, her black curls cascading around her face. She bit her lip.

Robb groaned, "Does it ever stop? The wanting you? Even when we've just finished, I want you so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch you again. It's torture."

Selene raised a brow, "Torture?" She went to her feet and walked over to where he stood, taking a glass of water and drinking it. She drank the cup in one gulp, licked her lips when she was done, never taking her eyes of him. "Whatever do you mean?" she asked sweetly.

Robb laughed.

"I mean to hear you groan like that again," Selene told him. "And moan, because you can't help it. I mean to make you sigh as though your heart would break, and scream with wanting, and to cry out in my arms."

Robb's eyes darkened. And then they were kissing again, tumbling toward the bed.

Robb laid on top of her, careful with her pregnant belly. He pulled back from a kiss to look her in the eyes, his brows furrowed, "I love you." He took her face in his hands. "Do you hear me? I _love_ you."

Selene laughed, "And I, you," she pulled his face down, but he kept his head back.

"I'm serious," Robb said, eyes crystalline. "I've always hoped…you're more beautiful, kind, and strong than I ever dared hope my wife would be. You are the best thing to ever happen to me. This war can't be over soon enough. I just want to be with you in Winterfell, and start our family. I want to watch our daughters grow to become as fierce and beautiful as their mother."

Selene glanced back and forth between his eyes, a slow smile spreading on her face as she thought of Maggy the Frog's prophecy. The wood witch had rightly predicted Selene's own birth, so she was a true seer. And she had seen a glorious future for her and Robb.

"And I want to watch our sons grow up to be as honorable and strong as their father. I love you too, Robb. More than anything. Anyone. _Always_."

###

The drums were pounding, pounding, pounding, and her head with them. Pipes wailed and fluted trilled form the musician's gallery at the foot of the hall; fiddles screeched, horns blew, but the drumming drove them all. The sounds echoed off the rafters, whilst the guest ate, drank, and shouted at one another. _Walder Frey must be deaf as a stone to call this music._ Selene sipped a cup of wine and watched Jinglebell prance to the sounds of _Alysanne_. At least, she thought it was meant to be _Alysanne_. With these players, it might have easily have been _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_.

Outside the rain still fell, but within the Twins the air was thick and hot. A fire roared in the hearth and rows of torches burned smokily from iron sconces on the walls. Yet most of the heat came off the bodies of the wedding guests, jammed in so thick along the benches that every man who tried to lift his cup poked his neighbor in the ribs.

It was even hot on the dais, where Selene sat beside Robb. He leaned in, "You are as radiant as the sun."

Selene smiled at him. Lord Walder had sent a handmaiden to help her dress, and for the first time in what felt like years, she had a proper bath, like the ones she was used to as a princess. The young girl had ran her deft fingers through Selene's long curls and had laced small braids randomly through her hair, sticking little white daisies in those braids. She also wore a crown of white flowers and rouge on her lips. Her silver silk dress hugged her waist and chest tight, highlighting the small bulge of her belly. When Robb had seen her, he'd blushed.

"My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I'll lay you down," Robb said conversationally. Selene grinned, recognizing the song. "I'll dress you all in silver silk, and on your head a crown. For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord. I'll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword."

Selene took a small sip of wine before she finished the song, "And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree. She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me. I'll wear a gown of golden leaves, and bind my hair with grass, but you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass."

Robb grinned, "I love that song."

"Have you written any new ones for me?" she asked, teasing.

Robb blushed, "I'm working on one now, not yet sure what to call it…"

"I can't wait to hear it," Selene grinned. "Do you write songs before or after your battles?" she asked playfully.

Robb laughed, "They come to me best when I think of you. Sometimes-"

"Your Grace," Lord Walder interrupted. "My daughters wish to dance."

Robb stood, "Of course, my lord." He turned and gave Selene's hand a long kiss, eyes fixed on her face in a silent promise.

Robb did his duty like a king. He danced with each of the girls, with Edmure's bride and the eighth Lady Frey, with the widow Ami and Roose Bolton's wife Fat Walda, with the pimply twins Serra and Sarra, even with Shirei, Lord Walder's youngest, who must have been all but six. Selene watched as the girls blushed as their fingers touched Robb's, and she couldn't help feeling proud. _Robb is every maiden's fantasy, and he is mine._

"Your sisters dance very well," Selene said to Ser Ryman Frey, trying to be pleasant.

"They're aunts and cousins." Ser Ryman drank a swallow of wine, the sweat trickling down his cheek into his beard.

_A sour man, and in his cups,_ Selene thought. The Late Lord Frey might be sparing when it came to food, but he did not stint on the drink. The ale, wine, and mead were flowing as fast as the river outside. The Greatjon was already roaring drunk. Lord Walder's son Merret was matching him cup for cup, but Ser Whalen Frey had passed out trying to keep up with the two of them. Selene would rather Lord Umber had seen fit to stay sober, but telling the Greatjon not to drink was like telling him not to breathe for a few hours.

Smalljon Umber and Robin Flint sat near Robb and Selene. Neither of them were drinking; along with Ser Andrew Estermont and Dacey Mormont, they were their guards for the evening. A wedding feast was not a battle, but there was always dangers when men were in their cups, and a king and queen should never be unguarded. Selene was glad of that.

As always, Ser Barristan was behind her.

"Take a seat, ser." Selene said. "Drink and be merry."

"Thank you, Your Grace, but I find that difficult given the circumstances." Selmy leaned in close, "I mistrust the Freys."

Selene laughed, "Next you will tell me that the sun rises in the east. Do you have any other secrets, my lord?"

Ser Barristan did not laugh, "Lord Walder insults you with every breath he takes. I nearly cut him in two earlier."

"I'm sorry you didn't. Why don't you check on our stormlanders? That way at least one of us will be able to escape this unbearable noise Lord Walder calls music."

Ser Barristan hesitated, "And leave you unprotected?"

"The greatest threat to me here is damage to my hearing," Selene assured him.

The Lord Commander of her Queensguard held his head high, "Is this a command, Your Grace?"

Selene stood, and grasped Ser Barristan's hands in hers. "My dear white knight," she brought his lined hands to her lips and kissed them, "I only want you to be happy." She looked up at his blue eyes. He was still a handsome man in his older age. "Even if that means taking an hour or two to escape this godsforsaken hall and walk amongst our men."

Ser Barristan smiled, "Thank you, Your Grace." He bowed low, "My queen."

Selene smiled as her eyes followed him from the hall.

"Everyone thought my lord would choose Fair Walda," Lady Walda Bolton told Ser Wendel, shouting to be heard above the music. Fat Walda was a round pink butterball of a girl with watery blue eyes, limp yellow hair, and a huge bossom, yet her voice was a fluttering squeak. It was hard to picture her at the Dreadfort in her pink lace and cape of vair. "My lord grandfather offered Roose his bride's weight in silver as a dowry, though, so my lord of Bolton picked _me._ " The girl's chin jiggled as she laughed. "I weigh six stone more than Fair Walda, but that was the first time I was glad of it. I'm Lady Bolton now and my cousin's still a maid, and she'll be _nineteen_ soon, poor thing."

The Lord of the Dreadfort paid the chatter no mind, Selene saw. Sometimes he tasted a bite of this, a spoon of that, tearing bread from the loaf with short strong fingers, but the meal could not distract him. Bolton had made a toast to Lord Walder's grandsons when the wedding feast began, pointedly mentioning that Walder and Walder were in the care of his bastard son. From the way the old man had squinted at him, Selene knew he had heard the unspoken threat.

_Was there ever a wedding less joyful?_ The heat and smoke of the hall was making her sick. The musicians in the gallery might be numerous and loud, but they were not especially gifted. Selene took another swallow of wine and allowed a page to refill her cup. _A few more hours, and the worst will be over._ By this hour tomorrow she and Robb would be off to another battle, this time with the ironmen at Moat Cailin. Strange, how that prospect seemed almost a relief. _We will win that battle. Robb wins all his battles, and the ironborn are without a king._ The drums were pounding. Jinglebell hopped past her once again, but the music was so loud she could scarce hear his bells.

Above the din came a sudden snarling as two dogs fell upon each other over a scrap of meat. They rolled across the floor, snapping and biting, as a howl of mirth went up. Someone doused them with a flagon of ale and they broke apart. One limped toward the dais. Lord Walder's toothless mouth opened in a bark of laughter as the dripping wet dog shook ale and hair all over three of his grandsons.

The sight of the dogs made Selene wish once more for Grey Wind and Eleni, but their beasts were nowhere to be seen. Lord Walder had refused to allow them into the hall. "Your wild beasts have a taste for human flesh, I hear, _heh,_ " the old man had said. "They rip out throats, yes. I'll have no such creatures at my Roslin's feast, among women and little ones, all my sweet innocents."

"Grey Wind is no danger to them, my lord," Robb protested. "Not so long as I am there."

"You were at the gates, were you not? When your wolf and lion attacked the grandsons I sent to greet you? I heard all about that, don't think I didn't, _heh_."

"No harm was done-" Selene started.

"No harm, the queen says? No harm? Petyr fell from his horse, _fell._ I lost a wife the same way, falling." His mouth worked in and out. "Or was she just some strumpet. Bastard Walder's mother, yes, now I recall. She fell off her horse and cracked her head. What would Your Grace do if Petyr had broken his neck, _heh?_ Give me another apology in place of a grandson? No, no, no. Might be you're queen, I won't say you're not, the Queen in the North, _heh_ , but under my roof, my rule. Have your lion or have your wedding, Your Grace. You'll not have both."

Selene and Robb had been furious, but they yielded with as much courtesy as they could summon. She missed Eleni by her side. _If it pleases Lord Walder to serve me stewed crow, smothered in maggots,_ she'd told Lady Catelyn, _I'll eat it and ask for a second bowl._ And so she had.

The Greatjon had drunk another of Lord Walder's brood under the table, Petyr Pimple this time. _The lad has a third of his capacity, what did he expect?_ Lord Umber wiped his mouth, stood, and began to sing. " _A bear there was, a bear, BEAR! All black and brown and covered with hair!_ " His voice was not at all bad, though somewhat thick from the drink. Unfortunately, the fiddlers and drummers and flutists up above were playing _Flowers of Spring_ , which suited the words of _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ as well as snails might suit a bowl of porridge. Even poor Jinglebell covered his ears at the cacophony.

Roose Bolton murmured some words too soft to hear and went off in search of a privy. The cramped hall was in a constant uproar of guests and servants coming and going. A second feast, for knights and lords of somewhat lesser rank, was roaring along in the other castle, she knew. Lord Walder had exiled his baseborn children and their offspring, so that their northmen and stormlanders had taken to referring to it as "the bastard feast." Some guests were no doubt stealing off to see if the bastards were having a better time than they were. Some might have even been venturing as far as the camps. The Freys had provided wagons of wine, ale, and mead, so the common soldiers could drink to the wedding of Riverrun and the Twins.

Robb sat down beside her once more. "A few more hours and this farce is done, Selene," he said in a low voice, as the Greatjon sang of the maid with honey in her hair. "Black Walder's been mild as a lamb for once. And Uncle Edmure seems well content in his bride. You would never guess he complained of Roslin all the way from Riverrun to the Twins."

Selene saw the sly smile tug on his lip. "Perhaps you should have married her?"

Robb laughed. "Why should I care for stars," he said grandly, "when I have married the moon?"

It was Selene's turn to laugh, "Is that a line from your next poem?"

"Perhaps it should be." Robb leaned across her, "Ser Ryman?"

Ser Ryman blinked and said, "Sire. Yes?"

"I'd hoped to ask Olyvar to squire for me when we march north," said Robb. He had told her of little Olyvar Frey's bravery in battle and how he missed him most of all the Freys he'd lost. "I do not see him here. Is he at the other feast?"

"Olyvar?" Ser Ryman shook his head, "No. Not Olyvar. Gone…gone from the castles. Duty."

"I see." Robb's tone suggested otherwise. When Ser Ryman offered nothing more, the king got to his feet again. "Would you care for a dance, Selene?"'

"Parade me in front of the Freys, you mean?" she asked. "Is that wise?"

"I'm tired of being wise. I want to dance with my wife. Would you like to?"

"Nothing would please me more." She took his hand and stood. It was hot on the dais, and Selene missed dancing.

Robb led her to the dancefloor, the trail of her silver gown kissing the floor as she walked. Her curls swayed behind her, the white of the flowers laced there stark against the black of her hair.

Robb called up to the musician's gallery. A young man was pushed to the front as the a few musicians tuned their instruments.

Selene took Robb's hand and followed his lead as the young boy sang.

_What is a youth?  
Impetuous fire  
_ _What is a maid?  
Ice and desire_

_The world wags on  
_ _A rose will bloom  
It then will fade  
_ _So does the youth_  
So does the fairest maid

Selene danced in circles until the hall was a blur. All she cared about was Robb, whose smile lit the dim hall. She could feel all the eyes on them, but she did not care. _I haven't danced in so long. Not since Winterfell. I can finally dance again. With Robb._

Seated between his black oak towers, the Lord of the Crossing clapped his spotted hands together. The noise they made was so faint that even those on the dais scarce heard it, but Ser Aenys and Ser Hosteen saw and began to pound their cups on the table. Lame Lothar joined the, then Marq Piper and Ser Andrew and Dacey Mormont. Half of the guests were soon pounding. Finally, even the mob of musician's in the gallery took note. The piping, drumming, and fiddling trailed off into quiet.

"Your Grace," Lord Walder called out to Robb, "the septon has prayed his prayers, some words have been said, and Lord Edmure's wrapped my sweetling in a fish cloak, but they are not yet man and wife. A sword needs a sheath, _heh,_ and a wedding needs a bedding. What does my queen say? Is it time for us to bed them?"

A score or more of Walder Frey's sons and grandsons began to bang their cups again, shouting "To bed! To bed! _To bed with them!_ " Roslin had gone white. Selene wondered whether it was the prospect of losing her maidenhead that frightened the girl, or the bedding itself. Selene once again was grateful that Robb had spared her it.

Selene raised a hand. "If you think the time is now, Lord Walder, by all means let us bed them."

A roar of approval met her pronouncement. Up in the gallery the musicians took up their pipes and horns and fiddles again, and began to play "The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown." Jinglebell hopped from foot to foot, his own crown ringing. "I hear Tully men have trout between their legs instead of cocks," Alyx Frey called out boldly, "Does it take a worm to make them rise?" To which Ser Marq Piper threw back, " _I_ hear that Frey women have two gates in place of one!" and Alyx said, "Aye, but both are closed and barred to little things like you!" A gust of laughter followed, until Patrek Mallister climbed up onto a table to propose a toast to Edmure's one-eyed fish. "And a mighty pike it is!" he proclaimed. "Nay, I'll wager it's a minnow," Fat Walda Bolton shouted out. Then the general cry of " _Bed them! Bed them!"_ went up again.

The guests swarmed the dais, the drunkest in the forefront as ever. The men and boys surrounded Roslin and lifted her into the air whilst the maids and mothers in the hall pulled Edmure to his feet and began tugging at his clothing. He was laughing and shouting bawdy jokes back at them, though the music was too loud for Selene to hear. She heard the Greatjon, though, "Give this little bride to me," he bellowed as he shoved through the other men and threw Roslin over one shoulder. "Look at this little thing! No meat on her at all!"

Selene felt sorry for the girl. Most brides tried to return the banter, or at least pretend to enjoy it, but Roslin was stiff with terror, clutching the Greatjon as if she feared he might drop her. _She's crying too,_ Selene realized as she watched Ser Marq Piper pull off one of the bride's shoes. _I hope Edmure is gentle with the poor girl._ Jolly, bawdy music still poured down from the gallery.

She knew she should join the throng of women around her good uncle, but felt it wrong. Lady Catelyn, too, had stayed seated through the spectacle.

As man and maid were carried from the hall, a trail of clothing behind them, Selene saw Robb had also remained. Walder Frey was prickly enough to see some insult in that. The drums were pounding again, pounding and pounding and pounding.

And then Selene heard a song that used to make her proud, but now the sound of it turned her joy to ashes in her mouth.

_And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?_

"My queen," Lord Walder said, "I've heard tale of your magnificent antlered silver crown. May I see it on your fair head?"

Selene tried to fight her look of surprise. "Would that I could, my lord, but I have it locked away. Besides, I prefer my crown of flowers." She gestured at her hair, and thought that was the end of it.

Lord Walder smiled a toothless smile, "Nonsense. You are a queen, and deserve to be bejeweled in silver and gemstones. I've taken the liberty of fetching it for you myself." He gestured to the side, and her silver crown was brought out on a silk pillow by a boy no more than twelve years old.

Selene gave Robb a side glance. He kept his face calm, but she could see the surprise in his eyes. She looked back at her crown as it was brought before her. _If I wear that, Jon will be able to see me. And I could sense him. I'd rather not._ Jon didn't deserve to watch his brother with the woman he loved, but the whole hall was watching her.

"If it pleases my lord," she said amiably, placing the crown gently on her head. Selene gave Lord Walder her brightest smile.

Too late, she realized Ser Barristan would never consent to give her crown to anyone without her leave.

_Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know._

"What beauty," Lord Walder remarked. "The crown seems a bit loose. One of you lot, help your queen."

From behind, Selene felt hands press her crown down roughly. It tightened around her temples. She gave a gasp of surprise.

Robb gave the man an angry look and moved to meet him...and staggered suddenly as a quarrel sprouted from his side, just beneath the shoulder. If he screamed then, the sound was swallowed by the pipes and horns and fiddles. Selene saw a second bolt pierce his leg, saw him fall. Up in the gallery, half the musicians had crossbows in their hands instead of drums. She ran toward her husband, until something pierced the back of her calf and the hard stone floor came up to slap her. Instinctively, she threw her hands in front of her to protect her stomach. " _Robb!"_ she screamed. She saw Smalljon Umber wrestle a table off of its trestles. Crossbow bolts thudded into the wood, one two three, as he flung it down on top of his king. Robin Flint was ringed by Freys, their daggers rising and falling. Ser Wendel Manderly rose ponderously to his feet, holding a leg of lamb. A quarrel went in his open mouth and came out the back of his neck. Ser Wendel crashed forward, knocking the table off its trestles and sending cups, flagons, trenchers, platters, turnips, beets, and wine bouncing, spilling, and sliding across the floor.

Selene's leg was on fire. _I have to reach him._ The Smalljon bludgeoned Ser Raymund Frey across the face with a left of mutton. But when he reached for his swordbelt, a crossbow bolt drove him to his knees.

_In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws._

She saw Lucas Blackwood cut down by Ser Hosteen Frey. One of the Vances was hamstrung by Black Walder as he was wrestling with Ser Harys Haigh.

_And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours._

The crossbows took Donnel Locke, Owen Norrey, and half a dozen more. Young Ser Benefrey had seized Dacey Mormont by the arm, but Selene saw Ser Andrew rush forward, grab a flagon of wine, and smash it full in his face. He took her hand and ran to the door. It flew open before they could reach it. Ser Ryman Frey pushed into the hall, clad in steel from helm to heel. A dozen Frey men-at-arms packed the door behind him. They were armed with heavy longaxes.

" _Mercy!_ " Selene cried, but horns and drums and the clash of steel smothered her pleas. Ser Ryman buried the head of his axe in Dacey's stomach. Ser Andrew threw himself forward in rage and attempted to wrestle the axe from Ser Ryman's hands. Too late, another Frey sunk his axe in the back of her cousin's neck, taking off half of his head. By then men were pouring in the other doors as well, mailed men in shaggy fur cloaks with steel in their hands. _Northmen!_ She took them for rescue for half a heartbeat, till one of them struck the Smalljon's head off with two huge blows of his axe. Hope blew out like a candle in the storm.

In the midst of slaughter, the Lord of the Crossing sat on his carved oaken throne, watching greedily.

There was a dagger on the floor a few feet away. Perhaps it had skittered there when the Smalljon knocked the table off its trestles, or perhaps it had fallen from the hand of some dying man. Selene crawled toward it. Her limbs were leaden, and the taste of blood was in her mouth. _I will kill Walder Frey,_ she told herself. _I will kill the old man. I can do that much at least._

As men were dying around her, Selene got to her knees, drew back the dagger, and flung it with all her strength at the carved oaken seat that held Lord Walder.

The dagger wobbled at it hit the back of the wooden chair. Lord Walder stared at the blade incredulously. It had nicked him in the ear.

Walder Frey growled, "Someone stop her!"

A crossbow bolt came singing until it found her other leg. Selene gave a scream of agony and collapsed onto the floor. Lifting her head, she saw Robb crawling toward her.

The tabletop that the Smalljon had flung over Robb shifted, and her husband struggled to his knees. He had an arrow in his side, a second in his leg, a third through his chest. Selene sobbed at the sight of him, and pushed herself on her elbows to get closer. _If we die, we die together._

Robb reached out his hand, and Selene stretched her arm as far as she could. The tips of their fingers touched.

"I-I love…" Robb breathed, blood trickling from the corner of his lip.

"I love you, too," Selene wept, tears falling down her face.

Robb took a deep breath, resolved, and stumbled to his feet.

Lord Walder raised a hand, and the music stopped, all but one drum. Selene heard the crash of distant battle, and closer the wild howling of a wolf and the roaring of a lion. _Eleni, Grey Wind,_ she remembered, too late. " _Heh,_ " Lord Walder cackled at Robb, "the King in the North arises. Seems we killed some of your men, Your Grace. Oh, but I'll make you an _apology,_ that will mend them all again, _heh._ "

Lady Catelyn suddenly stood, holding the fool Jinglebell's long grey hair with one hand and a blade to his throat with another, " _LORD WALDER!_ " The drum beat slow and sonorous. "Enough," said Catelyn, " _Enough,_ I say. You have repaid betrayal with betrayal, let it end. Please," she said, "he is my son. My first son, and my last. Let him go. Let him go and I swear we will forget this…forget all you've done here. I swear it by the old gods and the new, we…we will take no vengeance…"

_Speak for yourself,_ Selene thought viciously. _They'll have to kill me. I won't rest until every Frey is dead, and their castle burned._

Lord Walder peered at Catelyn in mistrust. "Only a fool would believe such blather. D'you take me for a fool, my lady?"

"I take you for a father. Keep me for a hostage, Edmure as well if you haven't killed him. But let Robb go."

"No," Robb's voice was whisper faint. "Mother, no…"

"Yes. Robb get up. Get up, grab Selene, and walk out, please, _please._ Save yourself...if not for me, for Selene. For your child."

"Selene? Child?" Robb grabbed the edge of the table and forced himself to stand. "Mother," he said, "Grey Wind…"

"Go to him. Now. Robb, _walk out of here."_

Lord Walder snorted. "And why would I let him do that?"

Lady Catelyn pressed the blade deeper into Jinglebell's throat. The lackwit rolled his eyes at her in mute appeal. Ser Ryman and Black Walder were circling her back, but Selene could see that Catelyn did not care. "On my honor as a Tully," she told Lord Walder, "on my honor as a Stark, I will trade your boy's life for Robb's. A son for a son." Her hand was shaking so badly she was ringing Jinglebell's head.

_Boom,_ the drum sounded, _boom doom boom doom._ The old man's lips went in and out. The knife trembled in Catelyn's hand. "A son for a son, _heh,_ " he repeated, "but that's a grandson...and he never was much use."

A man in dark armor and a pale pink cloak spotted with blood stepped up to Robb. "The Lannisters send their regards." He thrust his longsword through her husband's heart, and twisted.

Screams echoed in the hall as Selene's world ripped from under her. _They're mine,_ she realized dully as she watched Robb fall. Strength came to her from nowhere. The pain in her legs suddenly felt very far away as she scrambled to where Robb fell.

Catelyn screamed as she drew the blade deep across Jinglebell's throat.

Selene drew Robb in her arms. His expression was vacant, his eyes open but unseeing, his blood flowing over her.

"Robb?" Selene cried hopelessly, agony gripping her by the throat. "No more separating," she said absurdly. "You _promised."_ Tears flowed down her cheeks, falling on his handsome face. She pressed him against her, rocking back and forth. _Don't worry, Robb. I'll join you soon._

Catelyn was tearing her face to ribbons in grief. Lord Walder scoffed, "Someone. Deal with her." A man stepped from the shadows and bashed the back of Catelyn's head with the pommel of his sword. She collapsed.

Selene kept her eyes on Robb's face, but spoke to the man who had dealt the killing blow. All the fight drained from her body, and she felt so empty and cold. "End it, Lord Bolton," she whispered softly. "Let it end."

The Lord of the Dreadfort remained silent.

Selene's voice rose with impatience, "What are you waiting for? _Kill me._ "

"Today is not the day you die, my lady." Roose Bolton's voice was still quiet, even after all the bloodshed. "I have my orders. You will be returned to King's Landing."

Panic shot through her. "No, _no,_ NO, _NO!_ " She clutched Robb to her chest. _I'm coming with you, my love._

She looked up and saw the dagger at Lord Bolton's belt. Quick as lightning, she reached for it, drew it, and went to plunge it into her own heart. Lord Bolton's hand shot down and grabbed her arm, pulling it back.

" _N_ _o! Let me go! Let me die! Please!"_

He wrenched the blade from her hand and looked down on her with cold, unfeeling eyes.

The look Selene gave him was almost inhuman. "Kill me now, my lord, or you will regret it." Her eyes found Lord Walder. "And you. _Traitors. Oathbreakers._ Kill me. Or I will destroy your Houses and wipe your names from history. I swear it on the old gods and the new."

Bolton looked up at his men. "Take her."

"No!" Selene threw herself over Robb. "Please, give me his body, give me his-" blood filled her mouth as a mailed fist smashed the back of her head.

She was dragged away screaming. She continued screaming as the Frey and Bolton men laughed, pulling Robb's body away.

Lord Bolton had heard enough of her screams. "Silence her," he commanded.

And then some man's foot stomped mercilessly on the quarrel in her left leg. Black agony blinded her as she lay on the blood-soaked floor, the world turning to grey as shadows stood over Robb...and she heard the most terrible sound...of steel sawing through bone...and the world went black.

* * *

**Author's Note**

Sorry everyone, it had to happen. I appreciate every comment!

Below are some music links. They're not necessary for the story, just fun little elements for those who enjoy music with their fics.

Robb and Selene's last [dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZBwAFPFXOGQ)

The Red Wedding [itself](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xtF_CfjzfjQ). Robb's death 5:57


	36. A Walking Corpse

Selene's calves still burned.

Still, _still,_ long after they had thrown her unconscious body into a prison wagon, days after, she could still feel the fire that lanced up her legs. But the physical agony was _nothing_ compared to the hole left in her heart.

She had taken wounds before, but never felt anguish as sharp as this. She had never known there could be such pain. Selene felt grief when her father passed, but children were supposed to outlive their fathers, and she had been fighting for her father's sake, to uphold his memory. But in one red stroke she had lost her love, her cause, and her hope. Sometimes, unbidden, old prayers bubbled from her lips, prayers she learned as a child and never thought of since, prayers she had first prayed with her siblings kneeling beside her in the sept at the Red Keep. Sometimes she wept, until she heard the soldiers laughing. Then she made her eyes go dry and heart go dead, and prayed for her fever to burn away her tears. _Now I know how Tyrion has felt, all those times they laughed at him._

Her legs ached and her head throbbed with the pressure of the crown still wedged just above her brows. It had been pushed down so ferociously over her temples that she could not pry it off. After a while, none of the physical pain mattered. Her world shrunk to the throb of agony that was her sorrow.

Her throat was so raw that she could not eat. Not that she would have. She denied everything they tried to give her. Selene refused to drink from the cup of Robb's killers. She felt herself grow weaker and weaker.

Selene laid down, her head beside the bars so she could stare up at the night sky. The night was strangely beautiful. The moon was a graceful crescent, and it seemed as though she had never seen so many stars. _How can a night be so beautiful?_ she asked herself. _Why would the stars want to look down on such as me?_

 _Selene,_ a voice whispered, so faintly she thought she was dreaming it. _Selene, what are you doing?_

"Dying," she whispered back, her voice cracking roughly.

 _No,_ the voice said firmly. _N_ _o, you must live._ The voice sounded like Robb.

Selene wanted to laugh. "I'll die if it pleases me."

 _Our baby,_ she heard. _Y_ _ou must live for our baby. Are you so craven?_

The word shocked her. She was Selene Baratheon, the rightful Queen of the Iron Throne. No man had ever called her craven. She'd been called other things, yes; reckless, headstrong, insolent. Some must think her arrogant, outspoken, and quick-tempered. But never craven. "What else can I do, but die?"

 _Live,_ the voice whispered. _L_ _ive, and fight, and take revenge._

 _Craven,_ Selene thought. _Can it be? They have taken my crown and my sword. Was that all I was, a sword? Gods be good, is it true?_

The voice had the right of it. She could not die. Her baby needed her. And she had Tyrion, her siblings: they were waiting for her. And her enemies were waiting too; her grandfather who was no doubt the mastermind behind the massacre, Walder Frey who had betrayed guest right and murdered those in his own hall, and Lord Bolton, who had plunged his sword into Robb's heart.

When morning came, she made herself eat. They fed her a mush of oats, horse food, but she forced down every spoon. She ate again at evenfall, and the next day. _Live,_ she told herself harshly, when the mush was like to gag her. _Live for our baby, live for Tyrion and Tommen and Myrcella. Live for vengeance. A Lannister always pays her debts._ She almost smiled. _That's what I'll say to Grandfather before I sink a dagger into his throat._

One day, drifting in and out of sleep, she heard the ramblings of drunk soldiers.

"All hail the Queen in the North!" a voice shouted, mocking.

"Shut your damn mouth. She's sleeping."

"Who gives a shit? A little heralding won't wake her. Anyway, she should be on her knees thanking me. I'm announcing her procession."

"The princess on her knees," a voice said wistfully. "Now, wouldn't that be a pretty sight?"

A _thwack,_ and then another voice spoke, "Your heralding her wrong anyway, _idiot._ She's not the Queen in the North anymore, is she? Just a wolf's slut."

 _Robb,_ she wanted to weep, but she was exhausted.

The voices went on, "She's carrying the heir to the north."

"For now."

Selene stiffened. _Wake up!_ shouted a voice that sounded strangely like her own.

She grunted to her elbows, the weight of her crown stiffening her neck muscles. Whoever had pressed the crown down on her head had done his job: it was so tight it gave her a blindingly painful migraine. She was still wearing the dress she wore to the wedding, and there were still little white flowers woven tightly in her braids. The beautiful silver silk gown was brown and crusted with blood. _Mine and Robb's..._ she bit her lip. She placed a hand securely on her stomach. _As long as our baby is safe,_ Selene thought, relief sweeping through her. _T_ _hat's all that matters now._

She lifted the hem of her dress to see her calves. Seeing almost made it worse. That strange maester had removed the bolts from her legs, but nothing could stop the smell. _I smell like death._ Despite the maester-without-chains changing her bandages regularly, her legs looked infected and swollen.

A horse whinnied from afar, and then she heard the sounds of hooves on packed dirt. A tall, slightly stooped man with crinkles around his warm brown eyes reigned up beside the cart. He had grey hair, a lean frame, and looked almost fatherly. Despite being called _maester_ by all the soldiers _,_ the man lacked a maester's chain.

"My lady," the man said kindly. "It's good to see you awake." The maester smiled at her, handing her a skin, "Here, drink."

 _Live, damn it,_ she thought as she grabbed the skin and sniffed it, untrusting. It smelled strange, like mint and tansy. Selene flung it away and reeled back wordlessly, getting as far as she could get in her cage. Pressed against the opposite bars, eyes on the maester, Selene felt fingers jab at her. Laughter rang in her ears as she shot away toward the center of her cage. Humiliated, scarred, and in agony, she pressed her head down and buried her face in her arms. Her silent sobs shook her. _I should have died with Robb._

The maester sighed, "You won't make this easy for me, will you?"

A soldier's voice rang out, "Survive the Red Wedding, but die of thirst? Ha!"

 _The Red Wedding?_ But before Selene could think on it any further, her cage door swung open.

"No..." her voice cracked feebly, and with ease a hand pulled her toward the back of the cage by her legs. Selene gave a cry of pain as her neck hung over the back of the cart, the maester's hand holding her head aloft securely.

"Now, if you don't cooperate, this will only hurt," The maester chided. "Do you still refuse to drink?"

Her lips were dry and cracked. _This water smells wrong._

The maester read her silence, and sighed in disappointment. "Very well. Hold her arms."

Hands shot out to restrain her. Selene struggled as best she could, but the days in the cage and her wounds had made her weak. Someone tilted her head back, and the maester poured.

Selene spat it up. The maester gave her face a sharp slap. "Now you are just being childish. I have orders from your grandfather to keep you alive and well, and that's what I intend on doing. Tilt her chin higher."

Selene tried to spit it up again, but her neck was too far back. The water slid down her throat.

The water tasted wrong. It tasted like herbs. She struggled some more, choking so hard black spots danced in her vision.

Another slap, and harder. Her cheek was aflame. One on the hands that held her down grabbed at her breast. _I will not cry._

The maester noticed, "Enough of that. This is the king's sister. Show her some respect."

When the water skin was empty, the maester smiled, "There. You see? Easy."

Selene stared at him in hate.

The maester _tsked,_ "Come now, my lady. Is that any way to look at the man who saved your legs? If it wasn't for me, you would be a cripple."

The water had given her voice back, "Do you expect me to _thank_ you?" she growled, every word laced with malice. She felt a bit of her spirit come back.

The maester smiled, "There she is. The fabled _Winter's Fury_. I was wondering when that ferocity would return."

The hands around her right arm loosened just enough for Selene to draw it free and scratch at the maester's face. Her nails raked over his skin, and red lines bloomed over his cheek.

He reeled back in pain, " _Gods,_ you insolent-" rage filled his face, but he took a deep breath.

"Should we punish her, Maester Qyburn?" a solider with a hungry looked asked.

"No," Qyburn replied. He leaned closer to Selene, "You see? I'm all that stands between you and death."

"I don't-" Selene started.

"Fear death?" Qyburn finished. "Oh, I think you do. Even the bravest do, and mothers most of all. You should think about your child's health before you behave so foolishly. I could have you beaten bloody, raped and defiled, your child carved out of your belly...but I won't. Because _some_ of us still remember our courtesies." He looked down at her belly. "How long do you have left until the birth?"

Selene was silent.

"I can perform a thorough examination, if you would prefer?"

Selene paled, "Six turns of the moon."

"Ah," he sighed, narrowing his eyes. "You should recover quite nicely. As a sign of my good faith, you may ask me any question you wish."

"Where is Ser Barristan Selmy?" Selene said quickly. "My lioness? The Lady Catelyn? All my stormlanders?

Qyburn smiled, "Ah, good questions, all. Where should I start? The Lady Catelyn is now prisoner at Riverrun, and will be so indefinitely I fear, the poor lady. Many stormlanders died in the fighting, but after the rest were told that you were dead, they were offered their lives in exchange for returning to the stormlands."

Selene stared at him blankly, "You lied to them."

"You looked dead, my lady. Would you have preferred if they all had died for a lost cause?"

 _My stormlanders,_ Selene remembered how she felt on her horse when she spoke in front of them. She remembered feeling like the gods were with her. _What gods?_ she thought blankly. _What gods could allow this to happen?_

"I hear Lord Walder is making himself a fine lion's pelt cloak."

Selene felt like she'd been struck in the face. _My brave protector, my dearest friend, reduced to a cloak for Walder Frey._ Her grip tightened around the bars of her prison cell. _I will burn the Twins to ash with every Frey inside._

"Ser Barristan-"

"The last he was seen, Ser Barristan Selmy was leading the resisting stormlanders," Qyburn interrupted. "Doubtless your sworn sword's body is somewhere amongst the dead."

Tears rose unbidden to Selene's eyes. Ser Barristan had always seemed untouchable. If anyone could have escaped, it was him. _It hurts too much to hope. It hurts too much to care._

"Well, if that answers all your questions…"

Selene's head was throbbing, "My crown…" she tugged at it, but it was wedged tight.

"That is not a question."

 _Will you help me take off this wretched crown?_ The words would not come out of her mouth. _He will not hear me beg._

Qyburn straightened, "Very well. On to King's Landing."

The door to her cage swung closed and locked. The cart jerked forward.

Selene sat there alone, in the dark, grasping at thin air. _Maggy the Frog was wrong,_ she thought dully. _She said we would win the war, she said I would sit the Iron Throne, she said I would have six children._ But she had been betrayed; Robb slaughtered, and now was on her way to her childhood home as a prisoner.

She needed something to hold on to. Something to hope for. Else she would be completely lost.

She still had the baby. That's what she would live for now. That would be her cause. Selene could run north and find loyal supporters. Or even to the stormlands. She could still escape. She still had hope. She had Robb's son in her.

Selene's instinct told her it was a boy. She caressed her stomach with her hands. _Eddard,_ she thought, _I'll name him Eddard and bring him north. The north will rally around little Ned Stark, I know it._

 _Our babe, our babe, our babe,_ she thought over and over again until she drifted into sleep…

And woke up with an agony in her belly too sharp for words. The pain nearly blinded her. Selene screamed as she sat up, feeling as if someone had stabbed her core with a sword. Her thighs felt wet.

"No, no, no, _no..._ " She murmured as she lifted her soiled skirts, the fear in her heart stronger than the pain. She was sitting in a puddle of blood. Selene scurried to the corner of the cage so she could see. In a circle where she was lying, there was blood. But it didn't come from a wound. In the center there was a damp clump of black, wet in the moonlight.

She swallowed her horror, reaching with shaking fingers, and gently touched the mass. It was so small. Almost nothing, not even a shape. But that was her baby.

And then she remembered. The water had tasted wrong.

An ungodly wail rose from Selene's throat. She clawed at her arms in anguish. She hit the metal bars with all her strength. She heard her bones crack. She didn't care. She howled and wept and roared into an empty, unfeeling night sky.

###

Day or night, awake or asleep, Selene kept her eyes closed. All the fight in her had withered away and died with her child. The only sign of life in her was the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Her mind was blank and empty.

Sometimes she felt Qyburn change her leg bandages, but she didn't care to open her eyes or fight him. There was no point. Sometimes a hand opened her mouth and cool water poured down her throat. She never moved.

Once when the cart was stopped, maybe for the night, maybe for a moment, Selene heard voices.

"Is she dead?"

"Not dead, just broken. A tame lioness. See how her chest moves with her breath?"

"A lovely chest, that is. Widowhood becomes her. I've never had a princess before."

"Why would you want her? She's probably a _mess_ down there now. Besides, you never will," another voice said sharply. "She's the king's sister."

" _Traitor_ sister," a deep voice reasoned. "Why should anyone care if we have her? She's no maiden, the whole realm knows that. We can slip in and out and no one will be any the wiser. Do you think anyone will believe her? And even if they did, who cares? In that cage lies King Robert's daughter, King Joffrey's sister, King Robb's widow...highborn and defenseless. We'll never get this chance again. I'm tired of pox-ridden whores. Don't you want to dine like a king?"

A few more whispers. Then the cage door swung open.

Selene kept her eyes closed and did not move.

A man chuckled as he climbed on top of her. He smelled of manure. "Hold her legs." Selene felt hands grip her ankles through the bars.

A reeking, calloused hand pressed over her mouth. "Shhh…" the man said. "No screaming, alright?"

Selene kept her eyes closed.

The man shook with laughter, and turned to his friends, "See that? I hear she once cut a hundred men down with that black sword of hers. But now? Now she'll let me fuck her, and kiss me afterwards in gratitude."

The soldiers outside the cart snickered with him.

The man turned his attention back to Selene, "Look at me."

Selene kept her eyes closed.

His voice rose, "I said, _look at me._ " When Selene didn't move, he gave her a savage backhanded blow to the face.

Selene's lip broke, and blood flowed down her face. The man gripped her jaw with one hand and raised her face to his. Her eyelids fluttered open.

"There we are," the man was only a few years older than her, with stubble on his face, eyes that looked almost black in the darkness, and a long, curved nose. "I want those pretty eyes to look at me while I fuck you. I am going to fuck you so hard you forget the Young Wolf's name." With that, he pushed her back down and began to unlace his breeches.

That's when Selene saw the twin towers on his jerkin.

Without feeling, without blinking, she drew the dagger he foolishly left on his belt and slashed his throat open to the bone.

Hot, thick blood sprayed over her face as the man's eyes widened. The corpse fell on top of her, dead before he landed. The men who had been grabbing her ankles broke and ran, yelling. One of them closed the prison door before he ran, but Selene was not concerned with escape.

By the time Qyburn found her, she had sunk the blade into the soldier's body over two dozen times. Her eyes were dry and her face was blank as she counted the strikes with the names of those she lost. _This one is for Father, for Uncle Renly, for Willem and Tion, for Bran and Rickon and Arya, for my cousin Andrew and my friend Dacey, for Ser Barristan, for Eleni, and this one is for Robb, my child, Robb, my child, Robb, Robb, Robb._

###

Selene's feet dragged against the marble floor of the throne room as men gripped her by her forearms and led her to the foot of the Iron Throne.

The throne room was a sea of jewels, furs, and bright fabrics. Lords and ladies filled the back of the hall and stood beneath the high windows, jostling like fishwives on a dock. The members of Joffrey's court had striven to outdo each other today. Jalabhar Xho was all in feathers, a plumage so fantastic and extravagant that he seemed like to take flight. The High Septon was new to Selene, but she could tell him apart from the rest by his crystal crown, which fired rainbows through the air every time he moved his head. At the council table, her mother shimmered in a cloth-of-gold gown slashed in burgundy velvet, while beside her Varys fussed and simpered in a lilac brocade. Moon Boy wore a new suit of motley, clean as a spring morning. Even Lady Tanda and her daughters looked pretty in matching gowns of turquoise silk and vair, and Lord Gyles was coughing into a square of scarlet silk trimmed with gold lace.

King Joffrey sat above them all amongst the blades and barbs of the Iron Throne. He was in crimson samite, his black mantle studded with rubies, on his head a heavy golden crown. Selene's eyes couldn't take in all the splendor of the hall. After months of camps, the rich velvets, silks, and deep colors almost hurt her eyes.

The men dropped her unceremoniously on the marble floor before the steps to the throne. Selene did not bother throwing her arms forward to catch herself.

Her temple cracked against the floor. Her stupid antler crown made the agony even worse. The world went black for a moment. Selene could have sworn she heard a gasp of concern, but that didn't make any sense. _Who here has any care for me?_

Selene could feel the waves of joy emanating from her half-brother from where he sat on the Iron Throne. She laid on the floor, and did not get up.

"Arise, fair sister," Joffrey said grandly.

Selene did not move.

"No matter. Ser Meryn. Help my sweet sister to her knees."

Footsteps, and then hands grabbing her forcefully by the arms and propping her up on her knees.

 _He can't make me look at him._ Selene caught a glimpse of her reflection in the polished marble floor. She looked like seven hells. Dried blood caked her face where the would-be rapist's blood covered her. While her face was swollen from all the blows she'd received, everywhere else she had lost weight. Her collarbones jutted out brutally, her arms were painfully thin. Her dress, originally a pale silver, was now black and crusted with dried blood. The flowers in her matted, tangled hair were rotting, and there were cuts on her face, arms, legs. She wanted to laugh, but her ability to laugh died with her child. _The last time I was in this room, I was sitting the throne. I was wearing this exact crown, Ned Stark sat beside me, and I was Queen Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms. Now I am nothing._

Joffrey was grinning, "The mighty Winter's Fury has returned to us."

Selene kept her eyes on her reflection.

Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock, Hand of the King, spoke from his ornate chair beside the throne, "I wanted my granddaughter returned _unharmed._ "

"I think she looks splendid," remarked Joffrey.

Qyburn spoke with Lord Bolton's voice, "I did my best to keep her clean and healthy, my lord, but I'm afraid she refused many of my treatments."

"I did not realize she was in charge of the exchange," Lord Tywin said coolly.

Qyburn reddened, "Of course not, my lord, but I-"

"And all the blood?" Tywin interrupted.

Qyburn swallowed, "A vile man snuck into her cage, my lord. He would have…dishonored her, except she…" The maester without chains looked about the throne room at all the lords and ladies, "She slit his throat and stabbed him over a hundred times."

Whispers flew about the hall. Joffrey silenced them all with a raised hand.

"Did the man succeed, maester?" Joffrey asked, voice laced with poisonous concern. "In _violating_ my sister?"

"No, Your Grace."

"A pity," King Joffrey said. "I feel it would have been a valuable lesson for a traitor to learn."

If the Hand had any issue with the King's words, he did not show it.

Joffrey stood, annoyed with Selene's lack of participation. "You wound me, sister. I am overjoyed that you have returned to use whole. Well, partly whole. _Look_ at me. Look at the man responsible for the death of your traitor husband!"

Selene's eyes crawled up the steps. She was as slow as sunrise, and every person in the room held their breath. When her eyes reached the seat of the throne, she shifted them a hair to the right, and stared her grandfather in the face.

This did not please Joffrey, "No, not him. _Me. I am the king!_ "

" _Kinslayer_ ," Selene breathed, not taking her eyes off of Tywin despite Joffrey's whinging.

Tywin's face was stone.

Joffrey's was not. His stupid plump lips tightened into a frown. "What did you say?"

Selene took a deep breath and spoke again, louder this time, " _Kinslayer."_

Her mother spoke up from her council seat, "Robb Stark was not our kin."

"AND THE CHILD IN MY WOMB?" Selene roared in response, eyes never leaving Tywin's. Stunned silence fell over the hall. Cersei's eyes widened. _She did not know,_ Selene realized. But Tywin knew. He must have.

"Incestuous kinslayers who murder honored guests," Selene voice cracked with every word, but she soldiered on. "There is no house as accursed as House Lannister."

Tywin stood, dignified and correct, "Says the traitorous prisoner on her knees to the king on his throne. These are filthy accusations. Take her away."

###

By the time she was cleaned up, Selene looked like her old self again. She stared at her reflection in the mirror of her old chamber.

Salve had been applied to her cuts, ice to her swelled skin, her hair had been washed and combed and curled, and a delicate cloth-of-gold dress slipped on her figure. Mercifully, her crown has been oiled off her head. Her clean hair was woven with silk ribbons of crimson. As ornamented as she was on the outside, inside she felt empty and cold. A walking corpse.

Tired of looking at herself, she turned and walked to the balcony.

Her window faced the sea. She'd always liked that. The sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs used to lull her to sleep. She looked down and wondered how long it would take for her to reach the bottom, until the waves she loved so much threw her body against the jagged rocks. She would fly, like the dragons from her books. Except, she wouldn't be flying, not really. She would be falling. Selene's grip on the intricate iron railing tightened.

The door to her chambers swung open. Selene looked over her shoulder.

"I hope I am not interrupting," Tywin Lannister said as he poured two goblets of wine. "Come and share a drink with me."

 _Kill him,_ an unbidden voice whispered in her head. _Not yet,_ she thought. She needed answers first. Wordlessly, she turned and sat in a chair by her grandfather.

Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, was in his middle fifties, yet hard as a man of twenty. Even as he took a seat, he was tall, with long legs, broad shoulders, and a flat stomach. His thin arms were corded with muscle. When his once-thick golden hair had begun to recede, he had commanded his barber to shave his head; Lord Tywin did not believe in half measures. He razored his lip and chin as well, but kept his side-whiskers, two great thickets of wiry golden hair that covered most of his cheeks from ear to jaw. His eyes were a pale green, flecked with gold. A fool more foolish than most had once jested that even Lord Tywin's shit was flecked with gold. Some said the man was still alive, deep in the bowels of Casterly Rock.

Her grandfather gave her a long, searching look. "You are looking better."

Selene stared at him blankly. She took a sip of wine, for courage. "Some wars are won with quills and ravens, wasn't that what you once told me? How long have you and Walder Frey been plotting this?"

"I mislike that word," Lord Tywin said stiffly.

"I mislike being widowed. I mislike the murder of my unborn child. Life is full of things we mislike, it seems."

Tywin didn't even blink, "It was necessary. You couldn't be allowed to bear an heir to the north. You should be grateful that I spared your life, despite your crimes."

" _Necessary,_ " Selene spat. "You've taken everything from me."

Tywin showed no pity. "You betrayed your family. You married a traitor who rose up in arms against your brother the king. You placed a crown on your head and showed foolish ambition. I always considered you more intelligent."

From his belt, he drew a dagger of bronze and iron and placed it delicately on the table. The handle was fine black leather, the dagger itself a melding of the rich copper color of bronze and the steely grey of iron. The blade was half a foot long, and looked sharp. It glinted in the torchlight.

Selene frowned, "What is this?"

"A solution to our problems."

Her frown deepened. She waited for him to explain.

"I have been thinking of what to do with you," Tywin explained. "My first thought was to wait a year, so no man could claim your next child heir to the north, and to wed you to a Great House, to further secure your brother's throne."

Selene narrowed her eyes, "I _won't,_ " she breathed through grit teeth. "I won't remarry. I'll slit the throat of any enemy you give me to."

He scoffed, "Perhaps that threat would carry weight if I did not know you, child. You may have betrayed your house, but you did it for your father's sake, because you believed your uncle Stannis' filthy lies." A red flush crawled up Tywin's neck at the mere mention of his children's relationship, "Your honor is a precious thing to you. You won't murder an innocent."

Selene's eyes narrowed, "So why the weapon?"

"Do you not recognize it? It's the wretched crown that traitor gave you."

Selene stared down at what had become of her winter crown. "Robb," she said numbly.

"What?"

"His name was Robb. My husband. By all the laws of marriage, he was your kin. And the father of the great-grandchild you murdered in my womb."

"My hand did not deal the blow."

"Your hand wrote the order."

"No matter," Tywin said. "I had this dagger made especially. I thought it would serve."

"For what?"

Tywin studied his eldest grandchild, "For you to take your own life."

Selene's blood ran cold.

Tywin continued, "We cannot send you to the Wall. We cannot exile you. This way, Lannister hands stay clean."

"What about your marriage plan?"

Tywin shrugged, "I wanted to give you a choice. Spend the rest of your life in a castle and surround yourself with children like your mother has or fall on that blade. It makes no difference to me. You will do one or the other."

 _There is no blood in Tywin Lannister._ There was still one question that bothered her, "Why did you do it? Too scared to face Robb Stark in the field of battle?"

Her grandfather's lips tightened, "The boy was too wary in the field. He kept his men in good order, and surrounded himself with outriders and bodyguards. And you," his eyes grew cold. "Your name added weight to his mission. You were so influential that it was said any man who wished for his petition to be heard by the King in the North should kneel before his queen and speak loudly in her lap...for Robb Stark's ear was between his lady's legs."

Selene grabbed the dagger and held it aloft.

"Will you kill me?" Lord Tywin said, amused. "No man is so accursed as the kinslayer, you know that."

After a tense moment, Selene slammed the dagger down in the table, where it stood quivering. Selene grit her teeth so hard she tasted blood. "So because you could not defeat him, Lord Walder slew Robb under his own roof, at his own table." Selene made a fist, "So much for guest right."

"The blood is on Walder Frey's hands, not mine."

"Walder Frey, who wears my lion's skin as a prize, is a peevish old man who lives to fondle his young wife and brood over all the slights he's suffered. I have no doubt he hatched this ugly plot, but he would never have dared such a thing without a promise of protection."

"Explain to me why it is more noble to kill ten thousand men in battle than a dozen at dinner," Tywin asked coldly. "I'll have to see about that lion's pelt. It would not serve to have a Frey wear the symbol of our House around his body as if he has defeated us. Anyway, the price was cheap by any measure. The crown shall grant Riverrun to Ser Emmon Frey once the Blackfish yields. Lancel and Daven must marry Frey girls, Joy is to wed one of Lord Walder's natural sons when she's old enough, and Roose Bolton becomes Warden of the North and takes home Arya Stark."

" _Arya_ Stark?" Selene's head jerked up in shock. "She's alive? She's been missing for more than half a year. Arya Stark is surely dead."

"Perhaps Littlefinger succeeded where Varys failed. Lord Bolton will wed the girl to his bastard son. We shall allow the Dreadfort to fight the ironborn for a few years, and see if he can bring Stark's other bannermen to heel. Come spring, all of them should be at the end of their strength and ready to bend the knee. The north will go to Tyrion's son by Sansa Stark...if he ever finds enough manhood in him to breed one." Lord Tywin rose.

 _This is my chance._ Selene eyed the dagger, _Kill him!_

Selene watched as he walked to the door, her chance leaving with him. He turned and regarded her shrewdly.

"I'm in this world a little while longer," Tywin said, "to defend the Lannisters, to defend my blood. You nearly cost us everything."

Selene held his gaze, "The northerners will never forget what you did to their king. _I_ will never forget what you did to my husband and child."

"Good," he replied. "Remember what happens when you betray your own. Should I explain to you in one easy lesson how the world works?"

"Use small words. I'm not as bright as you."

"The House that puts family first will always defeat the House that puts the whims and wishes of its sons and daughters first."

The look Selene gave him was acid, "What if my mother murders my father? What if my uncle sleeps with my mother? What if my brother torments my siblings, my uncle murders my uncle, and my grandfather murders my child? How am I to put family first, when my family seems to be the root of all evil in the Seven Kingdoms?"

Tywin's look was cold, "When you were younger, I heard from Casterly Rock about your blossoming beauty, wit, and skill with sword. On the rare occasion that you visited, I was able to see it all myself. I thought you would be the pride of House Lannister," he opened the door, "How wrong I was." He eyed the dagger on the table, "Make your decision."

Tywin closed the door behind him.

Selene stood, picked up the dagger, and began running her fingers lightly up and down the blade. She walked absentmindedly to the balcony.

 _Robb had this crown forged for me,_ Selene thought numbly. Now it was a blade. Perhaps the last blade she would every wield. Stormsbane had not been returned to her, but her silver stag crown was on the bed. The crown Lord Walder used to ensure his soldiers wouldn't accidently kill her in the massacre.

Selene flung the crown against the wall with all her strength.

She looked back down to the dagger in her hand.

_Selene._

Her head snapped up.

Suddenly, Robb was in front of her, a small child in his arms. _He's not real._ She told herself. _It's just in my mind. I'm going mad._

 _Selene!_ Robb smiled. _I've missed you._

Tears spilled over her cheeks, "I miss you, too."

Robb gestured to the child in his arms. _You were right. A boy._

Selene's laughter was half a sob as she stepped closer. Robb was just out of reach. She took a few more steps.

"He's beautiful," Selene smiled. The boy couldn't have been more than three years old. His hair was as black as coal, his eyes a Tully blue.

 _Eddard._ Robb said. _What do you think?_

"I love it," Selene smiled through her tears. "I can't do this. I can't go on like this."

 _You don't have to,_ Robb's smile was as bright as the dawn. _Come with us._ He took a few more steps back.

Selene followed him, and then cold air blasted her from all sides. With a gasp, she looked around, startled. Without realizing, she had walked out onto the balcony.

 _Come with us,_ with one arm Robb held their son, with the other he extended a hand to her. He seemed to be floating just beyond the railing. Selene could reach him if she tried. _It's always summer here. It's warm and safe. Our fathers are here. Your father sends you his love._

Selene choked on her tears, "My father?"

Robb nodded. _It's peaceful here. Everyone is a lord with a castle. But it means nothing to me if you're not here. I want you to be my lady love and grow our little family. We could spend the rest of eternity together. I could write you poems, and you could dance forever._

Selene's eyelids were half closed. She took a few more steps forward, reaching out...

And nearly lost her balance. Her hands shot out to grip the railing, and she steadied herself.

Her breathing came in pants.

"I don't want to fall," she called out to him. She turned and saw the dagger on the chamber floor. She rushed to pick it up. _I've lived my life by the blade. I should die by it. Let them say that Selene of House Baratheon died rather than live a prisoner and a slave._

Selene stared at the blade a moment. Her death, and her salvation.

She lifted the blade high above her head, poised and ready to drive it into her heart.

The door to her chamber swung open.

Selene turned, her curls flying around her.

Tyrion stood beside the door, wide-eyed with fear. He raised his arms slowly in appeal. "Put the dagger down, sweetling," he entreated, slowly.

Selene's hands began to shake. She swallowed. "Robb is waiting for me."

Tyrion took small steps toward her, as slow as a glacier. "My dear niece..." His voice cracked with pain, and Selene could see him fighting back tears.

Selene let out a sob, and looked back toward the balcony.

Robb's shade was gone.

Selene pressed the blade's hilt to her forehead, shaking. Her eyes were pressed closed tight, her voice even tighter, "I want to die."

"I know, I know," Tyrion said soothingly. "Please, look at me."

Selene's eyes fluttered open, and she turned her head. Tyrion had gotten closer, his agony clear on his face. "We can talk…"

Selene shook her head, "I don't want to talk."

"Alright, no talking," Tyrion said quickly. "I know you've lost everything. I can't imagine what you must be feeling. But I-I love you. Just, please…put the blade down."

Selene eyed the dagger, and with all her strength, threw it at the wall. It clattered to the floor.

Tyrion let out a sigh of relief. Selene fell to her knees. Tyrion rushed forward and threw his arms around her. Selene sobbed in his doublet. "Robb," she choked out. "My _child…_ "

Tyrion's arms tightened around her, and she could feel his tears fall on her head, "I know, my sweet, sweet girl. I'm _so_ sorry."

Tyrion stroked her hair, hushing her cries, until Selene felt her eyes grow heavy with weariness and let sleep claim her.


	37. A Nest of Snakes and Roses

The invitation seemed innocent enough, but every time Selene read it, her mistrust grew and grew. _She's to be queen now, she's beautiful and rich and everyone loves her, why would she want to sup with a traitor?_ It could be curiosity, she supposed; perhaps Margaery Tyrell wanted to get the measure of the girl who was once a queen she bowed to. _Does she think I bear her ill will?_

_Should I bear her ill will?_ The last time Selene saw the Tyrell girl, she had been Renly's wife. The Reach had deserted her cause when she needed it most. However, Selene knew better than anyone that daughters had very little say in the wishes of their fathers. _Perhaps it was Lord Mace Tyrell's will to marry his rose to the lion. Perhaps Margaery is nothing more than a pawn._ Selene _did_ feel angry, though. _When Renly died, the Reach's loyalty was tested, and they failed. The strength of Highgarden could have made all the difference._

She studied the invitation, which looked to be written in Margaery's own hand. _Does she want my blessing?_ Selene wondered if Joffrey knew of this supper. For all she knew, it might be his doing. If Joff was behind the invitation, he would have some cruel jape planned to shame her. Would he command the Kingsguard to strip her naked? He had threatened that last time he came to gloat, and Selene did not think anyone would stop him.

Perhaps she was doing Margaery Tyrell an injustice. Perhaps the invitation was no more than a simple kindness, an act of courtesy. _It might just be a supper._ But this was the Red Keep, this was King's Landing, this was the court of King Joffrey Baratheon, the First of His Name, and if there was one thing that Selene Baratheon Stark had learned here, it was mistrust.

Selene had decided to keep both her father's and husband's names like she and Ser Barristan had discussed a thousand years ago, despite the annulment enforced by Tywin. After everything she endured, Selene thought that surely something as meaningless as a fake annulment couldn't hurt her, but it did beyond words. When Tywin noticed she did not fall on her blade, he lied to the High Septon about her marriage. Tywin claimed Selene was forced to say her vows, and that vows said at swordpoint could not be held as valid. The High Septon did not bother to ask why Selene would travel _to_ Robb Stark's camp if she was forced to wed him, but wisely chose to comply with the Hand's commands. _The High Septon and Tywin Lannister can give all the proclamations they wish,_ Selene thought fiercely. _I am Selene Baratheon Stark and no septon or lord or god can change that._

Tyrion's frequent visits were doing her much good. After making her swear never to raise a blade to herself again, Tyrion visited her at least once a day. He would make her repeat why life was worth living.

"For you," Selene said aloud to him every day before he left her. "For Tommen and Myrcella and Sansa. For the people of my father's realm. For vengeance and justice for Robb and my child."

Tyrion would nod approvingly, and leave her with a new book to read as he attended to his new position as master of coin and his marriage to Sansa Stark.

"I need to see her," Selene insisted for the hundredth time. Robb's sister was the last Stark child and Selene felt the burning need to comfort the poor girl, who by all the laws of marriage was her own sister.

"I know, sweetling." Tyrion tried, but Cersei had given clear instructions to her guards that she was only allowed to leave her rooms under constant supervision, and was never allowed near Sansa. She wasn't even allowed to see Tommen.

Despite everything, she must accept the Tyrell girl's invitation. She was nothing now, the discarded queen of a fallen kingdom and the disgraced widow of a rebel king. She could scarcely refuse Joffrey's queen-to-be.

Sighing, she got out quill and ink, and wrote Margaery Tyrell a gracious note of acceptance.

When the appointed night arrived, a brother of the Kingsguard came for her. The sight of Ser Loras Tyrell used to make Selene's heart beat a little faster, but now she felt nothing. The last time she had seen him, he stood beside her Uncle Renly in his pavilion as they looked over war plans. Now he stood before her in the white cloak worn by the likes of Ser Barristan Selmy and the Sword of the Morning.

Selene nodded, "Ser Loras,"

Ser Loras swallowed as he gazed into her eyes. He took a deep bow, "My lady. You look beautiful."

Selene had to force herself not to scoff. She knew what she was saying with her attire. Her new handmaiden never spoke a word to her and was silent when Selene had asked about her old friend Lori, but Selene had drawn the line when presented with a dress of crimson and gold. _I will not wear their colors._ She had chosen instead a wispy black dress, to show her mourning, with a deep plunging neckline and open back. _No need to play the maiden._ Selene was no maid, there was no reason for modesty. _I was a woman flowered and wedded with a child on the way, until they took that away from me. I will not let them parade me around in modest dresses of crimson. I will not play that part for them._

"My sister awaits you eagerly." He offered her his arm and led her down the steps. "My grandmother as well."

"Your grandmother?"

"Lady Olenna. She is to sup with you as well."

"The Queen of Thorns," Selene remarked.

"Yes," Ser Loras laughed. "You'd best not use that name in her presence, though, or you're like to get pricked.

"There is nothing Lady Olenna can do to me that hasn't been done already," Selene said flatly.

Ser Loras reddened, "Of course, my lady. Forgive me."

Ser Balon Swann held the door for them to pass. He was all in white as well, though he did not wear it half so well as Ser Loras. Beyond the spiked moat, two dozen men were taking their practice with sword and shield. With the castle so crowded, the outer ward was given over for guests to raise their tents and pavilions, leaving only the smaller inner courtyards for training. One of the Redwyne twins was being driven backward by Ser Tallard. Chunky Ser Kennos of Kayce, who chuffed and puffed every time he raised his longsword, seemed to be holding his own against Osney Kettleblack, but Osney's brother Ser Osfryd was savagely punishing the frog-faced squire Morros Slynt. Blunted swords or no, Slynt would have a rich crop of bruises by the morrow.

_I wish I had my sword._

On the edge of the yard, a lone knight with a pair of golden roses on his shield was holding off three foes. Even as they watched, he caught one of them alongside the head, knocking him senseless. Just the sight of it was enough to make Selene's fingers twitch with wanting to grip a sword.

Ser Loras followed her gaze, "My brother, Ser Garlan. He often trains against three men, or even four. In battle, it is seldom one against one, he says, so he likes to be prepared."

Ser Garlan glanced up, and his eyes followed them across the courtyard.

"My brother has heard of your skill with sword, my lady," Ser Loras said kindly. "He is eager to spar with you."

"Ser Garlan is not like to get his wish," Selene said. "I hardly think I will be allowed to hold a sword."

"He is a great knight," Ser Loras continued. "A better sword than me, in truth, though I am a better lance."

Selene was tired of his boasting. "Much good it did Renly."

Ser Loras brushed the hilt of his sword lightly with his hand. Its grip was white leather, its pommel a rose in alabaster. "Renly is dead." His voice was tight. "What use to speak of him?"

" _What use?_ " Selene repeated. "One moment, you were by my uncle's side, planning a Baratheon victory, and now…now you are sworn to give your life for _him._ That complete-"

"King Joffrey _is_ a Baratheon," Ser Loras said fiercely. "He has to be."

They ascended the serpentine steps in deepening silence.

Lord Mace Tyrell and his entourage had been housed behind the royal sept, in the long slate-roof keep that had been called the Maidenvault since King Baelor the Blessed had confined his sisters therein, so the sight of them might not tempt him into carnal thoughts. Outside its tall carved doors stood two guards in gilded halfhelms and green cloaks edged in gold satin, the golden rose of Highgarden sewn on their breasts. Both were seven-feet tall, wide of shoulder, and narrow of waist, magnificently muscled. When Selene got close enough to see their faces, she could not tell one from the other. They had the same strong jaws, the same blue eyes, the same thick red mustaches.

"My grandmother's personal guards," Ser Loras said. "Their mother named them Erryk and Arryk, but Grandmother can't tell them apart, so she calls them Left and Right."

Left and Right opened the doors, and Margaery Tyrell herself emerged and swept down the short flight of steps to greet them. "Princess Selene," she called, "I'm so pleased you came. Be welcome."

Selene stared at Renly's widow. As the sister of the king, Selene was styled _princess_ again, but Margaery was not queen yet. She nodded, "Lady Margaery."

"Please call me Margaery. Might I call you Selene?"

"If it pleases you."

Margaery dismissed Ser Loras with a sisterly kiss, and took Selene by the hand. "Come, my grandmother awaits, and she is not the most patient of ladies."

"Princess Selene," Ser Loras called before she could walk away.

She turned and looked upon Renly's dearest friend. Ser Loras stepped closer, "May I look into your eyes?"

_Does he wish to see Renly?_ Selene frowned, gave him a wary look, but nodded. Ser Loras stepped closer and Selene had to look up to keep his gaze.

Ser Loras Tyrell stared deep into her eyes, and Selene saw love there. And sadness.

"So much like his…" Ser Loras straightened, and took a deep bow. "Thank you," he said before he left them.

A fire was crackling in the hearth, and sweet-smelling flowers had been scattered on the floor. Around the long table a dozen women were seated.

Selene recognized only Lord Tyrell's tall, dignified wife Lady Alerie, whose long silvery braid was bound with jeweled rings. Margaery performed the other introductions. There were three Tyrell cousins, Megga and Alla and Elinor, all only a few years younger than Selene. Buxom Lady Janna was Lord Tyrell's sister, and wed to one of the green-apple Fossoways, dainty, bright-eyed Lady Leonette was a Fossoway as well. Septa Nysterica had a homely pox-scarred face but seemed jolly. Pale, elegant Lady Graceford was with child, and Lady Bulwer was a child, no more than eight. And "Merry" was what she was to call the boisterous plump Meredyth Crane, but not definitely not Lady Merryweather, a sultry black-eyed Myrish beauty.

Last of all, Margaery brought her before the wizened white-haired doll of a woman at the head of the table. "I am honored to present my grandmother the Lady Olenna, widow to the late Luthor Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, whose memory is a comfort to us all."

The old woman smelled of rosewater. There seemed to be nothing the least bit thorny about her. "Kiss me, princess," Lady Olenna said, tugging at Selene's wrist with a soft spotted hand. "It is so kind of you to sup with me and my foolish flock of hens."

Selene bent down and kissed the old woman on the cheek. "It is kind of you to have me, my lady." Truth be told, it was a relief to be free of her chambers.

"I knew your grandfather, Steffon Baratheon, though not well."

"He died before I was born."

"I am aware of that, princess. Night falls for all of use in the end, and too soon for some. You would know that more than most, poor lady. You've had your share of grief, I know. Not yet sixteen, and you have lost a husband and a child. We are sorry for your losses."

Selene glanced at Margaery. "I grieved for Renly as a niece, but I am sorry you had to endure that as a wife."

"You are kind to say so," answered Margaery.

Her grandmother snorted, "Renly was charming and gallant and very clean. He knew how to dress and he knew how to smile and he knew how to bathe, and somehow he got the notion that this made him fit to lead an army and be Hand." She narrowed her eyes at Selene, "And you had it in your head that you were fit to be queen."

Selene felt a flare of annoyance. "I am not only fit, I am-"

"The Baratheons have always had some queer notions, to be sure," the Queen of Thorns interrupted. "It comes from your Targaryen blood, I should think." She sniffed, "They tried to marry me to a Targaryen once, but I soon put an end to that."

"Renly was brave and gentle, Grandmother," said Margaery. "Father liked him well, and so did Loras."

"Loras is young," Lady Olenna said crisply, "and very good at knocking men off horses with a stick. That does not make him wise. As to your father, would that I'd been a peasant woman with a big wooden spoon, I might have been able to beat some sense into that fat head."

Selene nearly laughed. It had been so long since she had laughed.

" _Mother,"_ Lady Alerie scolded.

"Hush, Alerie, don't take that tone with me. And don't call me Mother. If I'd have given birth to you, I'm sure I'd remember. I'm only to blame for your husband, the lord oaf of Highgarden."

"Grandmother," Margaery said, "mind your words, or what will Selene think of us?"

"She might think we have some wits about us. One of us, at any rate." The old woman turned back to Selene, "It's treason, I warned them. Robert had two sons, how can his daughter _possibly_ have any claim to that ugly giant chair? Tut-tut, says my son, don't you want your sweetling to be wife to the Hand of the Queen? You Baratheons were kings once by the female line. And the Starks, the Arryns and the Lannisters as well, but the Tyrells were no more than stewards until Aegon the Dragon came along and cooked the rightful King of the Reach on the Field of Fire. If truth be told, even our claim to Highgarden is a bit dodgy, just as those dreadful Florents are always whining. 'What does it matter?' you ask, and of course it doesn't, except to oafs like my son. Now that Margaery is set to marry Joffrey, the thought that one day he may see his grandson with his arse on the Iron Throne makes Mace puff up like…now, what do you call it? Margaery, you're clever, be a dear and tell your old half-daft grandmother the name of that queer fish from the Summer Isles that puffs up to ten times its own size when you poke it."

"They call them puff fish, Grandmother."

"Of course they do. Summer Islanders have no imagination. My son ought to take the puff fish for his sigil, if truth be told. He could put a crown on it, the way you Baratheons do your stag, mayhaps that would make him happy. We should have stayed well out of all this bloody foolishness if you ask me, but once the cow's been milked there's no squirting the cream back up her udder. After Lord Puff Fish put his trust in Renly, we were into the pudding up to our knees, so here we are to see things through. And what do you say to that, Selene?"

Selene glanced at Margaery. _If Tywin hears what I want to say…_ Selene had no doubts that Tywin could make her punishment worse, but she wanted to scream at Lady Olenna. _What do I say to that, Lady Olenna? I say Joffrey's is a bastard born of incest, and your son and Renly supported their true queen._

Instead, Selene thought of what Lady Olenna said about the Tyrell lineage. "The Tyrells can trace their descent back to Garth Greenhand."

The Queen of Thorns snorted. "So can the Florents, the Rowans, the Oakhearts, and half the other noble houses of the south. Garth liked to plant his seed in fertile ground, they say. I shouldn't wonder that more than his hands were green."

" _Selene,_ " Lady Alerie broke in, "you must be very hungry. Shall we have a bite of boar together, and some chocolate cakes?"

"Chocolate cakes are my favorite," Selene admitted.

"So we have been told," declared Lady Olenna, who obviously had no intention of being hushed. "That Varys creature seemed to think we should be grateful for the information. I've never been quite sure what the _point_ of a eunuch is, if truth be told. It seems to me they're only men with the useful bits cut off. Alerie, will you have them bring the food, or do you mean to starve me to death? Here, Selene, sit here next to me, I'm much less boring than these others. I hope you're fond of fools."

Selene smoothed down her skirts and sat. "What kind of fools?"

"Feathers, in this case. What did you imagine I was speaking of? My son? Or these lovely ladies? All men are fools, if truth be told, but the ones in motley are more amusing than ones with crowns. Margaery, child, summon Butterbumps, let us see if we can't make Princess Selene smile. The rest of you be seated, do I have to tell you everything? Selene must think that my granddaughter is attended by a flock of sheep."

Butterbumps arrived before the food, dressed in a jester's suit of green and yellow feathers. An immense round fat man, he came cartwheeling into the hall, vaulted onto the table, and laid a gigantic egg in front of Selene. "Break it, princess," he said. When she did, a dozen yellow chicks escaped and began running in all directions. " _Catch them!"_ Butterbumps exclaimed. Little Lady Bulwer snagged one and handed it to him, whereby he tilted back his head, popped it into his huge rubbery mouth, and seemed to swallow it whole. When he belched, tiny yellow feathers flew from his nose. Lady Bulwer began to wail in distress, but her tears turned into a sudden squeal of delight when the chick came squirming out of the sleeves of her gown and down her arms.

As the servants brought out a broth of leeks and mushrooms, Butterbumps began to juggle as he sang and Lady Olenna pushed herself forward to rest her elbows on the table. "Do you know my son, Selene? Lord Puff Fish of Highgarden?"

"Lord of one of the Great Houses."

"Lord Oaf of one of the Great Houses," said the Queen of Thorns. "His father was an oaf as well. My husband, the late Lord Luthor. Oh, I loved him well enough, don't mistake me. A kind man, and not unskilled in the bedchamber, but an appalling oaf all the same. He managed to ride off a cliff while hawking. They say he was looking up at the sky and paying no mind to where his horse was taking him.

"And now my son is doing the same, only he's riding a lion instead of a palfrey. It is easy to mount a lion and not so easy to get off, I warned him, but he only chuckles. Should you ever have a son, Selene, beat him frequently so he learns to mind you. I only had the one boy and I hardly beat him at all, so now he pays more heed to Butterbumps than he does to me. A lion is not a lapcat, I told him, and he gives me a 'tut-tut-Mother.' There is entirely too much tut-tutting in this realm, if you ask me. All these kings would do a deal better if they would put down their swords and listen to their mothers."

Selene did not know what to say, so she stayed silent.

Lady Olenna gave her a searching look. "Your grief surrounds you like a cloud, my lady. It is a shame to see a captive wolf. Or are you a stag again?"

Selene met her gaze. "I am not a stag, my husband was not a wolf, my grandfather is not a lion. We're people, not gods. I will never be that foolish again. I will never think myself more than what I am."

"And what are you?"

"A daughter who lost her father, a wife who lost her husband, a mother who lost her child. I'm a girl." Selene looked down at her hands. "I'm just a girl."

"And wise beyond your years."

"Selene, would you like to visit Highgarden?" When Margaery Tyrell smiled, she looked very much like her brother Loras. "All the autumn flowers are in bloom just now, and there are groves and fountains, shady courtyards, marble columnades. My lord father always keeps singers at court, sweeter ones that Butterbumps here, and pipers and fiddlers and harpers as well. We have pleasure boats to sail along the Mander, and the best horses."

"I lost my horse," Selene said sadly. She hadn't seen Thunder since the Red Wedding, which was what the realm was calling the massacre at the Twins.

"Stop it, Margaery," the Queen of Thorns said sharply. "She is not a child. Don't treat her like one. We shall tell her our true purpose."

Selene raised a brow, "True purpose?"

"To see you safely wed, princess," Lady Olenna said, "to my grandson."

Selene grit her teeth, "I don't wish to remarry."

"That is obvious." Lady Olenna eyed Selene's mourning dress. "However, I know your grandfather, and though you may wish otherwise, marry you shall. And who to? The Starks are gone, Lord Tully is wed and captured, Lady Arryn will never marry her precious child to a Lannister. It's either the heir of Highgarden or a Martell. The Dornish are snakes, so here is my offer." Lady Olenna took her hand, "Marry my Willas. He is a bit older than you, to be sure, but a dear boy for all that. Not the least bit oafish, and heir to Highgarden besides."

_Never,_ Selene thought, but she could hear something beneath those words, so she tread lightly. "I hear Willas Tyrell is crippled."

"He was hurt as a squire, riding in his first tourney," Margaery confided. "His horse fell and crushed his leg."

"That snake of a Dornishman was to blame, that Oberyn Martell. And his maester as well," Lady Olenna said acidly.

"Willas has a bad leg, but a good heart," said Margaery. "He used to read to me when I was a little girl, and draw me pictures of the stars. You will love him as much as we do, Selene."

"I most certainly will not," Selene turned to Olenna. "You would marry your heir to a traitor. Throw your prized flower into the dirt. Why? Because you pretend to care about me?"

Margaery straightened, "You are the niece to my late husband. You are the sister of my future husband. We are kin."

Selene was no stranger to the game. "And you are casting a wide net." She kept her eyes on Lady Olenna, "Should the claims about Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella prove true, which they are, _I_ am my father's heir. If I am crowned queen, and Willas is my husband-"

"Then for the first time in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, there will be a Tyrell king," Lady Olenna finished. "As you can imagine, getting to that would be a tragedy." She looked at Margaery, "That would mean the unthinkable. My granddaughter married to a monster, her children bastards, but House Tyrell must go on."

"Why should I trust you?" Selene asked. "The Tyrells abandoned me when I needed them most."

"Ah, I thought you would ask that," said Olenna with a smile. Leaning forward, she rang a little silver bell. "A token of our goodwill." As the door opened, Selene turned to see one of the Tyrell guards lead a young girl into the room.

Selene jumped out of her seat. "Sansa?"

Sansa Stark's eyes widened to the size of saucers when she met Selene's. Both girls were as still as stone, until Selene ran forward. Sansa met her halfway, and the girls threw their arms around each other. Selene ran her fingers through Sansa's hair as her eyes welled up with tears.

Sansa pulled away to look at Selene. "Is it really you?"

Selene smiled, "Yes, sweet girl." She cupped her face, "Sister." _Her eyes are so like Robb's._ Selene bit back a sob.

Sansa Stark had grown several inches since Selene last beheld her. _She is just as comely as Margaery._ Her hair was a rich autumn auburn, her eyes a deep Tully blue. Grief had given her a haunted, vulnerable look; if anything, it had only made her more beautiful. Her tight-laced bodice revealed her budding figure.

Sansa looked up at her, teary-eyed, "My brother..."

Selene held her tighter. "I know, sweetling, I know. But your mother is alive."

Sansa's head snapped up, her eyes full of hope, "She _is_?"

Selene nodded, "A captive at the Twins, but _alive_."

Sansa gave a sob of relief and buried her face in Selene's shoulder. She held the girl tight.

"If any two people can console each other in their grief," Lady Olenna said, "it is you two."

"Why are you doing this?" Selene asked. If her mother found out, it would mean trouble for the Tyrells.

"To show you that we do care," Margaery answered. "We had tried to have Sansa marry our Willas first, but-"

"The damn Lannisters beat us to it, and gave the poor girl to your Uncle Imp."

"His name is Tyrion," Selene snapped. She turned back to Sansa, "I'm sorry about that."

Sansa's eyes looked faraway, "He's kind to me."

"I knew he would be."

"So?" Lady Olenna prompted. "Will you marry our Willas?"

Selene looked back at Sansa, "Only if I can take her with me." It wasn't unthinkable for a husband and wife to live separated. No doubt Tyrion would consent to let Sansa live with Selene in Highgarden, with perhaps a few visits for child-bearing purposes. _I can only shield Sansa from that for so long, but at least I can_ _get her out of King's Landing. She is the only Stark family I have left. I must keep her safe. For Robb._

"I don't see why not," Lady Olenna said with a smile. "Ah, look, here comes my cheese."

###

A horse whickered impatiently behind her, from amidst the ranks of gold cloaks drawn up across the road, Selene could hear Lord Gyles coughing as well. Tyrion had not asked for Gyles, no more than he'd asked for Ser Addam or Jalabhar Xho or any of the rest, but Lord Tywin felt Doran Martell might take it ill if only a dwarf and a traitor came to escort him across the Blackwater.

_Joffrey should have met the Dornishman himself,_ she reflected as she sat waiting, _but he would have mucked it up, no doubt._ Of late the king had been repeating little jests about the Dornish that he'd picked up from Mace Tyrell's men-at-arms. _How many Dornishmen does it take to shoe a horse? Nine. One to do the shoeing, and eight to lift the horse._ Somehow Selene did not think Doran Martell would find that amusing.

Selene did not complain, though. She was just grateful to be out of King's Landing. Tyrion had requested her presence and Tywin had allowed it only with the condition that she remain unarmed and a large amount of Lannister soldiers accompany them, in case Selene had any bold notions of fleeing. Not that she would have. The half-mad thoughts she had of taking her own life were fading as she constantly reminded herself what there was left to live for. _For Tyrion and Tommen and Myrcella and Sansa. For sweet vengeance._ She did not know when she would get it, but she was willing to wait as long as it took.

She could see their banners flying as the riders emerged from the green of the wood.

"Too many banners," whispered Tyrion.

Martell had brought half of Dorne, by the look of it. "How many banners do you count?" Selene asked.

"Bronn," Tyrion called. He repeated the question to his sellsword. The man had a lean, wolfish appearance, with his dark hair, dark eyes, and stubble of beard.

Bronn shaded his eyes, "Eight…no, nine."

Tyrion turned in his saddle, "Pod, come up here. Describe the arms you see, and tell me which houses they represent."

Podrick Payne edged his gelding closer. He was carrying the royal standard, Joffrey's great stag-and-lion. Bronn bore Tyrion's own banner, the lion of Lannister gold on crimson.

The Payne boy nervously rattled off the banners as he saw them. _Martell brings some formidable companions, it would seem._ Not one of the houses Pod had named was small or insignificant. Nine of the greatest lords of Dorne were coming up the kingsroad, them or their heirs, and somehow Selene did not think they had come all this way for a dancing bear. There was a message here. _And perhaps one I will like._ Nonetheless, Selene felt a stab of fear for Myrcella down in Sunspear.

"My lord," Pod said to Tyrion, albeit a little timidly, "there's no litter."

Selene turned her head sharply. The boy was right.

"Doran Martell always travels in a litter," Selene said. Doran was past fifty, and gouty.

Tyrion couldn't tolerate the waiting. "Banners forward," he snapped. "We'll meet them." When the Dornishmen saw them coming, they spurred their own mounts, banners rippling as they rode.

There were three sorts of Dornishmen, the first King Daeron had observed. There were the salty Dornishmen who lived along the coasts, the sandy Dornishment of the deserts, and the stony Dornishmen who made their homes in the heights of the Red Mountains. The salty Dornishmen had the most Rhoynish blood, the stony Dornishmen the least.

All three sorts seemed well represented in Doran's retinue. The salty Dornishmen were lithe and dark, with smooth olive skin and long black hair streaming in the wind. The sandy Dornishmen were even darker, their faces burned brown by the hot Dornish sun. They wound long bright scarfs around their helms to ward off sunstroke. The stony Dornishmen were biggest and fairest, sons of the Andals and the First men, brown-haired or blonde, with faces that freckled or burned instead of browning.

The lords wore silk and satin robes with jeweled belts and flowing sleeves. The fabled steeds of Dorne they rode were smaller than proper warhorses and could not bear such weight of armor, but it was said that they could run for a day and night and another day, and never tire.

The Dornish leader rode a stallion as black as sin with a mane and tail the color of fire. He sat in his saddle as if he had been borne there, tall, slim, and graceful. A cloak of pale red silk fluttered from his shoulders, and his shirt was armored with overlapping rows of copper disks. His high gilded helm displayed a copper sun on its brow, and the round shield slung behind him bore the sun-and-spear of House Martell.

_A Martell sun, but ten years too young,_ Selene thought as they reared up. _How many Dornishmen does it take to start a war? Only one._ Yet Tyrion had no choice but to smile, "Well met, my lords. We had word of your approach, and His Grace King Joffrey bid me ride out to welcome you in his name. My lord father the King's Hand sends his greetings as well." He feigned an amiable confusion that fooled everyone, save Selene, "Which of you is Prince Doran?"

"My brother's health requires him to remain at Sunspear." The princeling removed his helm. Beneath, his face was lined and melancholy, with thin arched brows above large eyes as black and shiny as pools of coal oil. Only a few streaks of silver marred the lustrous black hair that receded from his brow in a widow's peak as sharply pointed as his nose. _A salty Dornishmen for certain._ "Prince Doran has sent me to join King Joffrey's council in his stead, as it pleases his Grace."

"His Grace will be most honored to have the counsel of a warrior as renowned as Prince Oberyn of Dorne," said Selene, thinking, _This will mean blood in the gutters._ "And your noble companions are most welcome as well."

Prince Oberyn set off performing the introductions, until he landed on the last lady, "And this is Ellaria Sand, mine own paramour."

Selene could hardly suppress her grin. _His paramour, and bastard-born. Cersei will pitch a holy fit if he wants her at the wedding._ If she consigned the woman to some dark corner below the salt, her mother would risk the Red Viper's wrath. Seat her beside him at the high table, and every other lady on the dais was like to take offense.

Prince Oberyn wheeled his horse about to face his fellow Dornishmen. "Ellaria, lords and ladies, sers, see how well King Joffrey loves us? His Grace has been so kind as to send his own Uncle Imp to bring us to court."

Selene squeezed the reigns of her palfrey as the Dornishmen laughed, but Oberyn was not done.

"And he sends his beloved sister, the widowed usurper Selene Stark."

Tyrion spoke quickly, "We are not alone, my lords. That would be too enormous a task for a little man like me." The rest of their party had come up on them, so it was Tyrion's turn to name the names.

"My lord of Lannister," said the Dornish Lady Blackmont, "we have come a long dusty way, and rest and refreshment would be most welcome. Might we continue on to the city?"

"At once my lady," Tyrion turned his horse's head, and called to Ser Addam Marbrand. The mounted gold cloaks who formed the greatest part of the honor guard turned their horses crisply and the column set off for the river and King's Landing beyond.

_Oberyn Nymeros Martell,_ Selene thought as she fell in beside the man. _The Red Viper of Dorne. And what in the seven hells are we supposed to do with him?_

She knew the man only by reputation, to be sure…but the reputation was fearsome. When he was no more than sixteen, Prince Oberyn had been found abed with the paramour of the old Lord Yronwood, a huge man of fierce repute and short temper. A duel ensued, though in view of the prince's youth and high birth, it was only to first blood. Both men took cuts, and honor was satisfied. Yet Prince Oberyn soon recovered, while Lord Yronwood's wounds festered and killed him. Afterward men whispered that Oberyn had fought with a poisoned sword, and ever thereafter friends and foes alike called him the Red Viper.

That was many years ago, to be sure. The boy of sixteen was a man past forty now, and his legend had grown a great deal darker. He had traveled in the Free Cities, learning the poisoner's trade and perhaps the dark arts as well, if rumors could be believed. He had studied at the Citadel, going so far as to forge six links of a maester's chain before he grew bored. He had soldiered in the Disputed Lands across the narrow sea, riding with the Second Sons for a time before forming his own company. His tourneys, his battles, his duels, his horses, his carnality…it was said that he bedded men and women both, and had begotten bastard girls all over Dorne. The _sand snakes,_ men called his daughters. So far as Selene had heard, Prince Oberyn had never fathered a son.

And of course, he crippled the heir to Highgarden.

_There is no man in the Seven Kingdoms who will be less welcome at a Tyrell wedding,_ thought Selene. To send Prince Oberyn to King's Landing while the city hosted Lord Mace Tyrell, two of his sons, and thousands of their men-at-arms was a provocation as dangerous as Prince Oberyn himself. _A wrong word, an ill-timed jest, a look, that's all it will take, and our noble allies will be at each other's throats._

"We have met before," the Dornish prince said lightly toward Tyrion as they rode side by side along the kingsroad. "I would not expect you to remember, though. You were even smaller than you are now."

There was a mocking edge to his voice that Selene misliked, but Tyrion was not about to let the Dornish man provoke him. "When was this, my lord?" he asked in tones of polite interest.

"Oh, many and many a year ago, when my mother ruled in Dorne and your lord father was Hand to a different king."

_Not so different as you might think,_ reflected Selene.

"It was when I visited Casterly Rock with my mother, her consort, and my sister Elia. I was, oh, fourteen, fifteen, whereabouts, Elia a year older. Your brother and sister were eight or nine, as I recall, and you had just been born."

Selene and Tyrion exchanged a look. _A strange time to come visiting._ Her grandmother died giving birth to Tyrion, so the Martells would have found the Rock in deep mourning. Her grandfather especially. Lord Tywin barely spoke of his wife, but Selene had heard his brothers talk of the love between them.

"Did you find Casterly Rock to your liking, my lord?" Selene asked.

"Scarcely, my lady. Your grandfather ignored us the whole time we were there, after commanding Ser Kevan to see to our entertainment. The cell they gave me had a featherbed to sleep in and Myrish carpets on the floor, but it was dark and windowless, much like a dungeon when you come down to it, as I told Elia at the time. Your skies are grey, your wines too sweet, your women too chaste, your food too bland…and Lord Tyrion himself was the greatest disappointment of all."

"I had just been born," Tyrion said. "What did you expect of me?"

" _Enormity_ ," the black-haired prince replied. "You were small, but other than that, unremarkable. We were in Oldtown at your birth, and all the city talked of the monster that had been born to the King's Hand, and what such an omen might foretell for the realm."

"Famine, plague, and war, no doubt," Tyrion gave a sour smile. "It's always famine, plague, and war. Oh, and winter, and the long night that never ends."

"All that," said Prince Oberyn, "and your father's fall as well. Lord Tywin had made himself greater than King Aerys, I heard one begging brother preach, but only a god is meant to stand above a king. You were his curse, a punishment sent by the gods to teach him that he was no better than any other man."

"I try, but he refuses to learn," Tyrion gave a sigh. "But do go on. I love a good tale."

"And well you might, since you were said to have one, a stiff curly tail, like a swine. Your head was monstrous, we heard, half the size of your body, and you had been born with thick black hair and a beard besides, an evil eye, and lion's claws. Your teeth were so long you could not close your mouth, and between your legs were a girl's privates as well as a boy's."

"Life would be much simpler if men could fuck themselves, don't you agree? And I can think of a few times when claws and teeth might have proved useful. Even so, I begin to see the nature of your complaint."

Bronn gave a chuckle, but Oberyn only smiled. "We might never have seen you at all but for your sweet sister. You were never seen at table or hall, though sometimes at night we could hear a baby howling in the depths of the Rock. You did have a great voice, I must grant you. You would wail for hours, and nothing would quiet you but a woman's teat."

"Still true, as it happens," Selene quipped.

Tyrion laughed, and this time Prince Oberyn did as well, "A taste your uncle and I share. I've always known I will die with a breast in hand."

Tyrion was grinning, "You were speaking of my sister?"

"Cersei promised Elia to show you to us. The day before we were to sail, whilst my mother and your father were closeted together, she and Jaime took us down to your nursery. Your wet nurse tried to send us off, but your sister was having none of that. 'He's mine,' she said, 'and you're just a milk cow, you can't tell me what to do. Be quiet or I'll have my father cut your tongue out. A cow doesn't need a tongue, only udders.'"

"My mother learned charm at an early age," said Selene, amused.

"The gods know she has never been in a rush to claim me since," Tyrion admitted.

"Cersei even undid your swaddling clothes to give us a better look," the Dornish prince continued. "You did have one evil eye and some black fuzz on your scalp. Perhaps your head was larger than most…but there was no tail, no beard, neither teeth nor claw, and nothing between your legs but a tiny pink cock. After all the wonderful whispers, Lord Tywin's Doom turned out to be just a red infant with stunted legs. Elia even made the noise young girls make at the sight of infants, I'm sure you've heard it. The same they make over cute kittens and playful puppies. When I commented that you seemed a poor sort of monster, your sister said, 'He killed my mother,' and she twisted your little cock so hard I thought she was like to tear it off. You shrieked, but it was only when your brother Jaime said, 'Leave him be, you're hurting him,' that Cersei let go of you. 'It doesn't matter,' she told us, 'Everyone says he's like to die soon. He shouldn't even have lived this long.'"

The sun was shining bright above them, and the day was pleasantly warm for autumn, but Selene Baratheon went cold all over. _My sweet mother. Why would Oberyn tell such a tale? Is he testing us, or simply toying?_ She could see Tyrion struggle with the same dilemma.

"Be sure and tell that story to my father," Tyrion said nonchalantly. "It will delight him as much as it did me. The part about my tail, especially. I did have one, but he had it lopped off."

Prince Oberyn had a chuckle. "You've grown more amusing since last we met."

"Yes, but I _meant_ to grow taller."

"While we are speaking of amusement, I heard a curious tale from Lord Buckler's steward. He claimed that you have placed a tax on women's privy purses."

"It's a tax on whoring," said Selene. _And it was Tywin's notion._ "The King's Hand felt the extra penny might help improve the morals of the city." _And pay for Joffrey's wedding besides._ Tyrion had complained of the blame he would receive as the master of coin. The common people called it _the dwarf's penny_ in the streets.

"I will make certain to keep my pouch full of pennies. Even a prince must pay his taxes."

"Why should you need to go whoring?" Selene glanced back to where Ellaria Sand rode among the other women. "Did you tire of your paramour on the road?"

"Never. We share too much." Prince Oberyn shrugged, "We have never shared a beautiful blonde woman, however, and Ellaria is curious. Do you know of any such creature?"

"I am a man wedded," Tyrion said. "I no longer frequent whores."

Oberyn abruptly changed the subject. "I hear there is to be seventy-seven courses served at the king's wedding feast."

"Are you hungry, my prince?"

"I have hungered for a long time, princess. Though not for food. Pray, tell me Lord Tyrion, when will _justice_ be served?"

"Justice," Tyrion repeated. "You were close to your sister?"

"As children Elia and I were inseparable, much like your own brother and sister."

_Gods, I hope not,_ Selene thought as Tyrion attempted to placate the prince, "Wars and weddings have kept us well occupied, Prince Oberyn. I fear no one has yet had the time to look into murders sixteen years stale, dreadful as they were. We shall, of course, just as soon as we may. Any help that Dorne might be able to provide to restore the king's peace would only hasten the beginning of my lord father's inquiry-"

"Dwarf," said the Red Viper, in a tone grown markedly less cordial, "spare me your Lannister lies. Is it sheep you take us for, or fools? My brother is not a bloodthirsty man, but neither has he been asleep for sixteen years. Jon Arryn came to Sunspear the year after Robert took the throne, and you can be sure that he was questioned closely. Him, and a hundred more. I did not come for some mummer's _inquiry._ I came for justice for Elia and her children, and I will have it. Starting with this lummox Gregor Clegane…but not, I think, ending there. Before he dies, the Enormity That Rides will tell me whence came his orders, please assure your lord father of that." He smiled. "An old septon once claimed I was living proof of the goodness of the gods. Do you know why that is, Imp?

"No," Tyrion admitted warily.

"Why, if the gods were cruel, they would have made me my mother's firstborn, and Doran her third. I _am_ a bloodthirsty man, you see. And it is me you must contend with now, not my patient, prudent, and gouty brother."

Selene's interest was piqued. _Perhaps I have found my chance for vengeance in this Dornish prince._

Tyrion, however, was gazing ahead across the Blackwater at King's Landing. "You speak like a man with a great host at his back," Tyrion said testily, "but all I see is three hundred. Do you spy that city there, north of the river?"

"That landfill before us? Not only do I see it, I smell it."

"Then take a good sniff, my lord. Fill up your nose. Half a million people stink more than three hundred, you'll find. Do you smell the gold cloaks? There are near five thousand of them. My father's own sworn swords must account for another twenty thousand. And then there are the roses. Roses smell so sweet, don't they? Especially when there are so _many_ of them. Fifty, sixty, seventy, thousand roses, in the city or camped outside it, I can't really say how many are left, but there's more than I care to count, anyway."

Martell gave a shrug, "In Dorne of old before we married Daeron, it was said that all flowers bow before the sun. Should the roses seek to hinder me I'll gladly trample them underfoot."

Perhaps it was her recent meal with the Tyrell women, but something made Selene say, "As you trampled Willas Tyrell?"

Tyrion's eyes widened, but the Dornishman did not react as expected. "I had a letter from Willas not half a year past. We share an interest in fine horseflesh. He has never borne me any ill will for what happened in the lists. I struck his breastplate clean, but his foot caught in a stirrup as he fell and his horse came down on top of him. I sent a maester to him afterward, but it was all he could do to save the boy's leg. The knee was far past mending. If any were to blame, it was his fool of a father. Willas Tyrell was as green as his surcoat and had no business riding in such company. The Fat Flower thrust him into tourneys at too tender of an age, just as he did with the other two. He wanted another Leo Longthorn, and made himself a cripple."

"There are those who say Ser Loras is better than Leo Longthorn ever was," said Tyrion.

"Renly's little rose? I doubt that."

Selene frowned, but Tyrion spoke quickly, "Doubt it all you wish, but Ser Loras has defeated many good knights, including my brother Jaime."

"If by _defeated_ , you mean _unhorsed_ in a tourney, I care not. Tell me who he's slain in battle if you wish to frighten me."

"Ser Robar Royce and Ser Emmon Cuy, for two. And men say he performed feats of valor on the Blackwater, fighting beside Renly's ghost."

"So these same men saw the ghost as well, yes?" The Dornishman laughed lightly.

Tyrion gave him a long look, "Chataya's on the Street of Silk has several girls who might suit your needs. Daney has hair the color of honey. Marie's is pale white-gold. I would advise you to keep one or the other by your side at all times, my lord."

"At all times?" Prince Oberyn lifted a thin black eyebrow. "And why is that, my good Imp?"

"You wanted to die with a breast in hand, as I recall." With that, Tyrion cantered ahead. _It seems he has suffered all he means to suffer of what passes for Dornish wit._ But Selene did not follow. Instead, she stayed beside the prince.

Prince Oberyn chuckled as he watched Tyrion leave, "Your uncle is quite amusing. Though, his defense of his Lannister family is troubling."

"He's not one of them, I assure you," Selene said. "He loves them not." _Except for Jaime._ But Jaime hadn't been seen in months, not since Lady Catelyn freed him from Riverrun's prison.

Prince Oberyn veered his horse slightly closer to hers. "I trust you would not defend the house which caused you nothing but anguish."

Selene wondered how much she could trust the Red Viper. _Not as far as I can throw him, certainly, but what could he possibly do to me? Tell Tywin I mislike Lannisters? It's hardly a secret._

"I would not."

Oberyn smiled, "A girl with sense. Or should I say, a woman. Tell me, princess, is it true what I've heard?"

"What have you heard?" Selene asked suspiciously.

"We received your letter all the way in Dorne about your brother's parentage. That news does strain Trystane's betrothal to your sister, but I suspect you knew that. I mean about everything else. That your own _family_ conspired to have your husband murdered. And that the Old Lion poisoned you, killing the child in your womb."

Selene's eyes were faraway. She swallowed. "All true."

"Then you must hate the Lannisters as much as I."

"More."

The Dornishman smiled, "I know the hearts of women. I saw the way my sister was with her children, the way the mothers of mine are with them. Such atrocities would drive them mad with grief." He eyed her black mourning clothes. "Yet here you sit."

"Yet here I sit." Selene agreed.

"What are you waiting for?" Oberyn asked softly.

"Opportunity."

"So am I, my lady." Prince Oberyn's black eyes flickered. "So am I."


	38. The White Book

Selene tried her best to occupy her time.

Sometimes, she would visit Sansa under the pretense of dining with the Tyrells. Once safely in the Maidenvault, her and Sansa would speak privately.

"The Kingsguard beat me," Sansa once said through tears.

Selene's hands balled into fists with rage. "Sansa, I'm so-"

"Why didn't you take me with you?" Sansa said accusingly.

"I couldn't," Selene said, almost as much to herself as to Sansa. "I was injured. If it wasn't for Ser Barristan, I would have never made it out myself."

Sansa's eyes were cloudy.

"Don't worry, sweet girl," Selene said solemnly. "I'll get you out of here. I promise. Even if it means I must marry a Tyrell and move to Highgarden. I will take you with me."

"You would do that for me?" Sansa asked, her voice small and disbelieving.

"Of course," Selene said as she embraced the younger girl. "You are my sister."

It was there in her chambers, thinking of how best to get Sansa out of King's Landing, when her mother decided to pay her a visit.

Cersei gave her daughter a sweeping glance. "Will you ever stop wearing black?"

Selene ignored her, keeping her back to her mother as she stood on the balcony.

"Wine?" Cersei asked, pouring two goblets before Selene could respond. Grabbing the cups, her mother walked over to the balcony and handed her one. It was nearly sunset, and the sky was starting to turn pink.

Selene took a cup, but did not drink.

Her mother scoffed. "You think I would poison you?"

"Grandfather did," Selene said as she turned to face her mother. Cersei was wearing a pale green dress that brought out the green of her eyes. Her golden hair was loose around her face, and tresses were stirring softly in the breeze.

Cersei looked away, and had the grace to look ashamed. "I didn't know about that."

"Would you have done any different?"

Her mother gave no answer.

That was all Selene needed to know. She looked back to the sea. "How else to reward your silver reflection for her betrayal?" she mused.

Cersei was suddenly very still. "What did you say?"

"It's me, isn't it? The one you and Father share? A moon cloaked in wolfskin?"

Her mother's eyes widened. " _Silence._ " Cersei looked around frantically, as if the walls were listening. She leaned in close, "Who told you that?"

"Well, you did, before Joffrey cut off Ned Stark's head. But I found the source in the westerlands. Maggy the Frog."

Cersei paled, and turned to walk away, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Cersei's discomfort was delicious. Selene followed her mother, "Don't you? Is that why you hate me so? Because you think I am the other queen, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down?"

Cersei turned in a flurry of skirts and lifted her hand to strike Selene's face. She caught her by the wrist. "No. You will never strike me again."

"That woods witch is a _liar,_ " Cersei breathed, but Selene could see that her mother was trying to convince herself more than Selene.

"Well, she was wrong about me, if that's any comfort," Selene said as she walked away from Cersei.

"You had a foretelling?"

"I did, and she was wrong. She predicted that I would win the war and sit the Iron Throne with my husband." Selene gestured to her mourning gown, "As you can see, she was mistaken."

"What was her wording? Her _exact_ wording."

Selene snorted, "As if I would confide anything in _you,_ Mother."

Cersei's eyes flashed, "You told me she gave you a foretelling."

"I told you she was _wrong_. I told you because I wanted you to know the words you have lived by your whole life only came about because you believed them so. Who _knows_ what a loving daughter I could have been to you, if only you were a loving mother to me?"

Cersei was silent, anger and frustration plain on her face. And then in an instant the emotions were gone, and her face blank.

"Why have you come here?" Selene asked.

"I don't know," Cersei said softly.

Selene scoffed, and went back to the balcony railing. "I want to see Tommen."

"Soon enough. At Joffrey's wedding." Cersei paused. "I don't know how we got like this." Selene could just hear her mother murmur to herself, regretful.

"You have only yourself to blame."

Selene did not look back, even as the door shut behind her mother.

###

Sweat trickled down Selene's brow as she swung the plain, blunt practice sword.

Ser Garlan Tyrell met her blow before she could land it, "Very impressive, princess."

"Hardly," Selene said, and it was true. Her legs were still stiff from where the crossbow bolts had pieced her, so she was slower than she had ever been. Even still, she hadn't felt this good in weeks.

When Ser Garlan Tyrell asked her grandfather for the honor of sparring with the princess, Tywin Lannister could hardly refuse, lest he reveal how little he trusted his granddaughter. If Tywin wished to marry her off, he needed to show that Selene was a rebel no more. Entrusting her with a sword was a start.

_I won't kill anyone yet, Grandfather,_ Selene thought as she swung at Ser Garlan, Lannister guards watching her every move, _That would be too quick and easy._

It was then in the yard that a small retinue of men on horses entered. Their leader's face was thin and hollow, and his yellow hair short. The thin man looked at two members of the Kingsguard who were training nearby. "Someone has given me two new brothers, I see," he said as he dismounted.

_Uncle Jaime?_ Selene thought incredulously, frozen in place. Ser Garlan looked from her to her uncle, and waited.

"We have that honor, ser," the Knight of Flowers said, shining so fine and pure in his white scales and silk that Jaime looked a tattered and tawdry thing by comparison.

Jaime turned to Ser Meryn Trant, "Ser, you've been remiss in teaching our new brothers their duties."

"What duties?" said Ser Meryn defensively.

"Keeping the king alive. How many monarchs have you lost since I left the city? One, is it?"

Selene noticed the stump at the same time as Ser Balon, " _Your hand…"_

Jaime smiled, "I fight with my left now. It makes for more of a contest. Where will I find my lord father?"

"In his sola-"

" _You!_ "

Loras Tyrell saw Brienne of Tarth, and so did Selene. That woke her from her daze. "Lady Brienne!" Selene cried, striding toward her, so happy to see the warrior woman that Selene nearly forgot that Brienne helped Lady Catelyn free Jaime.

Brienne's eyes found her. Instantly, the large woman dropped to her knees, "Your Grace."

Loras Tyrell went up to her. "Why?" he demanded. "You will tell me why. He treated you kindly. Why would you kill him?"

"I never did. He was my liege lord, my queen's own uncle. I would have died for him."

"You will." Ser Loras drew his longsword.

"It was not me."

"Emmon Cuy swore it was, with his dying breath.

"He was outside the tent. He never saw-"

"There was no one _in_ the tent, except you and his niece. Do you claim Renly's own blood slayed him?"

Selene had walked up to them, ignoring the look her uncle was giving her. "There was a _shadow_. I know how mad it sounds, ser, but I saw it with my own eyes. It nearly killed me, too."

"I had no part in it," Brienne continued, "On my honor-"

"You have no honor. Draw your sword. I won't have it said that I slew you while your hand was empty."

Wonder of all wonders, Jaime stepped between them. "Put that sword away, ser."

Ser Loras edged around him. "Are you a craven as well as a killer, Brienne? _Draw your sword, woman!"_

"Best hope she doesn't." Jaime blocked his path again. "Or it's like to be your corpse we carry out. The wench is as strong as Gregor Clegane, though not so pretty."

"This is no concern of yours." Ser Loras shoved him aside.

Jaime grabbed the boy with his good hand and yanked him around. "I am the _Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,_ you arrogant pup. _Your_ commander, so long as you wear that white cloak. Now _s_ _heathe your bloody sword,_ or I'll take it from you and shove it up some place even Renly never found."

The boy hesistated for half a heartbeat, long enough for Ser Balon Swann to say, "Do as the Lord Commander says, Loras."

Ser Loras slammed his sword back into its sheath. "I want her arrested." Ser Loras pointed, "Lady Brienne, I charge you with the murder of Lord Renly Baratheon."

"And I exonerate her," Selene countered. "I was there, Ser Loras. She did _not_ kill him. It was Stannis."

Ser Loras hesitated, "A _shadow…"_

"For what it's worth," said Jaime, "my niece has honor. As does this wench. More than I have seen from you. And it may even be that they're telling it true. I'll grant you, Brienne's not what you would call clever, but even my horse could come up with a better lie, if it was a lie she meant to tell. As you insist, however…Ser Balon, escort Lady Brienne to a tower cell and hold her there under guard."

"This is ridiculous!" Selene said.

Jaime looked at her, "Even if she did not kill Renly, she is still loyal to a usurper. She was a member of your Queensguard, was she not?"

Brienne's big blue eyes were full of hurt as Balon Swann and a dozen gold cloaks led her away. Selene could only watch her go.

Jaime's eyes fell, "You're looking well, niece. Considering…" He struggled for the right words.

"Save your breath," Selene spat. "Only in a world as cruel as this one does my beloved husband die a gruesome death while you somehow miraculously survive." She turned and walked back to Ser Garlan.

Selene got in a fighting stance.

Ser Garlan cleared his throat, "Forgive me, princess, but I fear I have other duties to attend to. May we spar again soon?"

Selene straightened, "Of course, Ser Garlan. And thank you, again, for what you said to my grandfather."

He gave her a deep bow, "It was my pleasure, princess. A talent like you should not be hidden away."

Selene suspected Olenna was behind Ser Garlan's attention. _Does she mean to show me the kindness of House Tyrell? Of the freedom I would have if I chose their Willas to husband?_

She was roused from her thoughts by a Dornish accent, "Will my lady accompany me on a walk on this fine autumn day?"

She turned to find Prince Oberyn.

"My prince," Selene bowed.

The Lannister guards assigned to her stepped forward. "The princess is under watch. She is by no means allowed to wander the castle alone," One of them sneered, "especially with the likes of a Dornishman."

Oberyn's smile cut, "Do you know why all the world hates a Lannister?"

The soldiers stood silently.

Oberyn continued, "You think your gold and your lions and your golden lions make you better than everyone. May I tell you a secret?"

The soldier's face was stone.

"You're not a golden lion. You're just a pink little man who's far too slow on the draw."

The soldier and Oberyn did not move. Then, all at once, the Lannister guard reached for his sword, but before he could even unsheathe it, Oberyn had a dagger at his throat. It seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

"Longsword is a bad option in close quarters," the Prince of Dorne informed the guard. "You may not have recognized me, but I am Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne, and I was talking to the lady. Now leave."

The soldiers looked at each other, bowed to Selene, and left in a hurry.

When they were alone, Selene said, "That was hardly subtle. Tywin will hear of this."

"Let him. I am tired of subtle." He offered her his arm, "Shall we?"

When they were in the gardens, Oberyn spoke, "I see your Uncle Jaime has returned. Well, most of him."

"Unfortunately."

"Is it?" Oberyn raised a brow, "I heard you were close to your Lannister uncle."

"Tyrion," Selene clarified. "I'm close to Tyrion. Jaime was my hero once, before I knew what he was."

"Perhaps you should be close to him again."

Selene stopped walking. "What? Why?"

Oberyn looked south, "My brother calls me hotheaded and rash, and he is right. While I've been dreaming of how to repay your family with blood, he has been dreaming of how to repay your family with politics. How to destroy the Lannister name and taint your grandfather's legacy."

"My mother and Jaime's relationship."

"Precisely, my dear," Oberyn smiled.

Selene was wary, "My sister Myrcella…"

"Children are innocent of the crimes of their fathers. And grandfathers." Oberyn stood before her, "No harm will come to Myrcella, no matter her parentage. Perhaps she will not marry my nephew Trystane, but she will not be touched."

"Swear to me."

"I swear it on my sister's grave. We do not harm little girls in Dorne."

Selene nodded, and continued to walk, "How does my uncle's reappearance help?"

"A confession from Jaime Lannister himself would be undeniable proof of your family's crimes. Your grandfather would be shamed, your brother disinherited, and the throne cleared for you."

"I understand your distaste for Lannisters, my lord, believe me, but you speak of my ascension to the throne. Why?"

"You will be in need of a husband."

_It always comes back to that,_ Selene thought. _I am just a girl with a claim to the throne. Whoever marries my claim begins their family's dynasty._ The Tyrells wanted that, and it seemed the Martells did as well.

"Who do you propose?" Selene asked.

"My nephew Quentyn is of a suitable age. Only a few years older than yourself. I will not lie to you, Quentyn is plain, but also sensible and dutiful. Trystane is a few years younger than you, but a sweet boy if you have the patience to wait for him to come of age." He gave her a wicked smile, "Or myself, if you would prefer?"

Selene raised a brow, "King Oberyn, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." It was almost laughable.

Oberyn did not laugh, "I cannot promise love, for I love another, but I can promise a husband who will protect, defend, and respect you. One who will fill your belly with children who will grow to be as tall, strong, and handsome as their father." His dark eyes glittered. "Dornish women have been known to sing songs of my skills in the bedchamber. A woman as beautiful as you should be fast friends with pleasure, and I would be honored to introduce you. Or, if you would prefer, you can keep lovers. It's naught to me."

_I can't imagine a madder court._

"Pleasure and I need no introduction," Selene said. "My husband was a wolf, and loved me well."

Oberyn said nothing, only took a step closer to her, so she had to look up to keep his gaze. He did not move a muscle, but as his eyes roamed her face, she felt his gaze like a torch against her skin. When his eyes went further south, she felt a pulse of anger. "Is it customary in Dorne to insult the newly widowed?"

"What insult came from my lips?"

"Not your lips. Your eyes."

"Do my eyes insult you so?"

Selene went around him and continued her walk, not looking or caring if he was beside her. "They do," she said as she heard his footsteps follow. "Your eyes better take care, my prince."

"And why is that?"

"Because I just might gouge them out."

Prince Oberyn laughed. "If my eyes affect you so, just imagine what my tongue will do."

Selene turned shaply at that, her eyes narrowed, fingers itching for the sword she did not have. _Perhaps I was too quick to trust him._

"Will you weep for desire?" Oberyn mused, tilting his head. "Or beg for mercy?"

"Would you like to lose your tongue as well?"

"I am a prince of Dorne."

"And I am a queen."

Only when the words were out did Selene realize what she had said. _Where did that come from?_

"There you are." Something shifted in his eyes, and his smirk disappeared. "Forgive me, princess. I needed to get the measure of you."

"The _meausure_ of me?" Selene's anger only grew. "Am I just a toy for your amusement?"

"Far from it. I know grief, my lady. I know it's depths. The last person the Seven Kingdoms needs on the throne is a weepy widow or a mourning mother. The realm needs strength."

"Don't you worry about my strength," Selene said, drawing herself up to her full height. "I have plenty."

For the first time, Oberyn's smile did not cut. "Good. " He offered her his arm once more, and she took it. "We will need it for the wars ahead."

Selene looked away. "I don't see what I can do about Jaime."

"Play his forgiving niece. Make him believe you are his once more. Convince him the only way to absolve his sins is to confess his crimes to the realm."

_This could serve._ "It will take time."

"I've waited many years. Of time, I have plenty."

"What about your lust for blood?"

"Never fear, princess. There will be time enough for that."

###

A white book sat on a white table in a white room.

The room was round, its walls a whitewashed stone hung with white woolen tapestries. It formed the first floor of the White Sword Tower, a slender structure of four stories built into an angle of the castle wall overlooking the bay. The undercroft held arms and armor, the second and third floors the small spare sleeping quarters of the brothers of the Kingsguard.

As pale as the room, Jaime sat by the book in his Kingsguard whites. Selene had just seen his sworn brothers exit the tower, so she guessed they had just finished a meeting. Jaime's longsword hung from his hip. _From the wrong hip._ Before, he had always worn his sword in his left, and drawn it across his body when he unsheathed. He had shifted it to his right hip, but he looked wrong. His clothing fit badly as well. He had donned the winter raiment of the Kingsguard, a tunic and breeches of bleached white wool and a heavy white cloak, but it seemed to hang loose on him.

His eyes rose when she entered the room. His green eyes looked haunted, so Selene looked away. She glanced around the room once more to buy time. There was a white shield and two crossed longswords over the hearth. The chair behind the old weirwood table was old black oak, with cushions of blanched cowhide, the leather worn thin. _Worn thin by Barristan the Bold and Ser Gerold Hightower before him, by Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, Ser Ryam Redwyne, and the Demon of Darry, by Ser Duncan the Tall and the Pale Griffin Alyn Connington_. How could the Kingslayer belong in such exalted company?

Yet there he was.

Jaime rose, "Selene."

_This is impossible. I can hardly look at him, let alone pretend to forgive him._

"Uncle."

Jaime looked confused, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Selene walked to the window. The sunlit sea was sparkling and beautiful. "My recent…experiences…have made me realize how important family is."

Jaime studied her carefully, but said nothing.

Selene turned to him, surprised at the tears rising to her eyes, "I'm trying to forgive." _Incredible. If all else fails I should go into mummery. It almost feels real._

She looked down at his stump. "I am sorry for your loss." _Strange…I did not mean to say that._

Jaime raised his wrist and waved it, "It's only a hand."

She could tell he was trying to be brave. _It's one thing to slay a lion, it's another to mutilate him, and watch him stagger and suffer in confusion._

"You've lost more." His eyes were infinitely sad, infinitely weary as he walked to her side, "What happened to you-"

"What Grandfather did to me." 

"I thought you were realizing how important family is?"

Selene cleared her throat, "It will take time to forgive Grandfather for what he's done, but you… It was a long time ago."

Jaime stared out the window, "I'm glad you feel that way, niece."

Her eyes dropped back to his stump.

"Does the sight it distress you so?" Jaime asked. "You ought to be pleased. I've lost the hand I killed the king with. The hand that flung the Stark boy from the tower."

"The gods are just." Selene found herself saying, in her anger forgetting her true purpose.

That was her mistake.

"Yes, poor sad Aerys Targaryen." Jaime snorted. "It's not Aerys I rue, it's your father. 'I hear they've named you Kingslayer,' he said to me at his coronation feast. 'Just don't think to make it a habit.' And he laughed. Why is it that no one names Robert oathbreaker? He tore the realm apart, yet _I_ am the one with shit for honor."

"My father did all he did for love."

"Robert did all he did for pride, a cunt, and a pretty face."

"He rode to save the realm," Selene insisted.

Jaime looked out over the bay. "Did you know that Tyrion set the Blackwater Rush afire? Wildfire will burn on water. Aerys would have bathed in it if he'd dared. The Targaryens were all mad for fire." He looked down at his clothes, "Soiled my white cloak…I wore my gold armor that day, but…"

"Gold armor?" She asked.

Jaime's eyes were cloudy with memory. "The king commanded his alchemists to place caches of wildfire all over King's Landing. Beneath Baelor's Sept and the hovels of Flea Bottom, under stables and storehouses, at all seven gates, even in the cellars of the Red Keep itself.

"Everything was done in the upmost secrecy by a handful of master pyromancers. They did not even trust their own acolytes to help. The queen's eyes had been closed for years, and Rhaegar was busy marshalling an army. But Aery's new Hand was not utterly stupid, and with Rossart, Belis, and Garigus coming and going night and day, he became suspicious. Chelsted, that was his name, Lord Chelsted. I'd thought the man craven, but the day he confronted Aerys he found some courage somewhere. He did all he could to dissuade him. He reasoned, he jested, he threatened, and finally he begged. When that failed he took off his chain of office and flung it down on the floor. Aerys burned him alive for that, and hung his chain about the neck of Rossart, his favorite pyromancer. The man who had cooked Lord Rickard Stark in his own armor. And all the time, I stood by the foot of the Iron Throne in my white plate, still as a corpse, guarding my liege and all his sweet secrets.

"My sworn brothers were all away, you see, but Aerys liked to keep me close. I was my father's son, so he did not trust me. He wanted me where Varys could watch me, day and night. So I heard it all. Rhaegar met Robert on the Trident, and you know what happened there. When word reached court, Aerys packed the queen off to Dragonstone with Prince Viserys. Princess Elia would have gone as well, but Aerys forbade it. Somehow he got it in his head that Prince Lewyn must have betrayed Rhaegar on the Trident, but he thought he could keep Dorne loyal so long as he kept Elia and Aegon by his side. _The traitors want my city_ , I heard him tell Rossart, _but I'll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat._ The Targaryens never bury their dead, they burn them. Aerys meant to have the greatest funeral pyre of them all. Though if truth be told, I do not believe he truly expected to die. Like Aerion Brightflame before him, Aerys thought the fire would transform him…that he would rise again, reborn as a dragon, and reduce his enemies to ash.

"Ned Stark was racing south with Robert's van, but my father's forces reached the city first. Pycelle convinced the king that his Warden of the West had come to defend him; so he opened the gates. The one time he _should_ have heeded Varys, and he ignored him. My father had held back from the war, brooding on all the wrongs Aerys had done him and determined that House Lannister should be on the winning side. The Trident decided him.

"It fell to me to hold the Red Keep, but I knew we were lost. I sent to Aerys asking his leave to make terms. My man came back with a royal command ' _Bring me your father's head, if you are no traitor.'_ Aerys would have no yielding, Lord Rossart was with him, my messenger said. I knew what _that_ meant.

"When I came on Rossart, he was dressed as a common man-at-arms, hurrying to the postern gate. I slew him first. Then I slew Aerys before he could find someone else to carry his message to the pyromancers. Days later, I hunted down the others and slew them as well. Belis offered me gold, and Garigus wept for mercy. Well, a sword's more merciful than fire, but I don't think Garigus much appreciated the kindness I showed him."

Jaime looked down at his hand. "I have been robbed of my glory and my shame." He looked back at the white book that held the history of the Kingsguard, and Selene realized that one of his new duties was to fill those pages. "Leaving what? Who am I now?

"Has my tale turned you speechless?" Jaime looked desperate. "Come, curse me or kiss me or call me a liar. _Something."_

"You saved King's Landing." Selene said dumbly. "Why doesn't anyone know this?"

"The knights of the Kingsguard are sworn to keep the king's secrets. Would you have me break my oath?" Jaime laughed. "Do you think our noble Lord of Winterfell wanted to hear my feeble explanation? Such an _honorable_ man. Your good father only had to look at me to judge me guilty. By what right does the wolf judge the lion? _By what right?_ " Jaime swayed were he stood.

Selene hurried to steady him.

Jaime winced.

"Why are you telling me this?" Selene asked as she lowered him into a chair. "Why did you not tell me sooner?"

"How could I tell such a tale to a child? But you are a child no longer. You are a woman grown and widowed, a warrior bled, a mother who-" Jaime looked away in shame. "I'm telling you this because I want you to understand _me_. I couldn't care less what the realm thinks of me, but you…" he sighed. "I had hoped to speak with you of happier circumstances."

Selene gave him a dry smile, "Oh, uncle. There are no happy circumstances."

###

Selene paced in her room, her mind whirling.

The days were creeping by slowly. She would sup with the Tyrells in order to speak with Sansa, she would read the books Tyrion brought her, she would spar with Ser Garlan, or she would speak with her Uncle Jaime of his trials on the journey home. She had tried to speak with Brienne of Tarth, but was constantly denied.

"Personally, I can't imagine why you would want to speak with that stubborn wench," her uncle had said once she was denied again, "but she is as stoutly loyal to you as ever. My lord father will never allow it."

Despite how he spoke of her, Selene could tell Jaime admired Brienne. He often spoke of her unwavering loyalty, chivalry, and sense of duty in a way that made Selene say once, "It sounds like you greatly admire her."

Jaime had paused, "I think I do, as mad as that sounds."

Selene had laughed.

Sometimes, she would see Oberyn with Ellaria Sand as she walked the gardens and Red Keep with her uncle, and the Dornishman would give her a knowing look. _I am playing a part,_ Selene reminded herself after laughing at Jaime's description of how foul he smelled during his imprisonment. _I will get him to confess his crimes._

"I…I am sorry about how things ended between us," Jaime had said once he escorted her back to her chambers. "I did it for your mother, but…I should have fought for you. Oddly enough, of all your siblings, you are the one most like me."

For a moment, Jaime looked like he wanted to embrace her, but he nodded and left.

_He knows I know. There is no use lying to me._ All she needed was that confession in writing, and she would be free to expose him.

_They will call him Sisterfucker as well as Kingslayer,_ which strangely made her sad.

The confusion she felt led to her pacing her chambers, anxious and unsure.

_I am exhausted of court and lies and plots. I want to escape._

Her eyes fell on her silver coronet. She had been forbidden from wearing it, but somehow allowed to keep it.

_I just want to see him for a moment,_ Selene thought to herself. _Is he still beyond the Wall? Does he know what has happened to his family? To Winterfell?_

Selene felt a wave of guilt.

_Robb is gone. I'm just checking on his brother, making sure he's alright. Robb would have wanted to know if Jon was alright._ But even in her head, her reasons sounded feeble.

Selene thought about Jon, expecting a feeling or two to return. She was surprised when all she felt was concern. _Sisterly concern?_ Selene thought of Ser Loras's looks and how she felt nothing when she had seen him, of her indifference when Prince Oberyn plainly spoke of pleasing her in the bedchamber. _I am removed from all of that now. Romance and love are things of the past to me. This is about making sure Jon is alive and well._

Before Selene could question herself any further, she grabbed the coronet.

Suddenly, she was filled with a deep heat in her core, the kind she used to feel under the sheets with Robb.

She quickly let go with a gasp, as if the crown had burned her.

_Is that what Jon's feeling right now?_ It was absurd. He was a man of the Night's Watch, and sworn to celibacy. Even though Selene had only known Jon for a short time, she knew enough of him to be certain he would not forsake his vows.

_And yet…I know that feeling. I miss that feeling more than I ever thought possible._

Selene grabbed the coronet again, feeling desire stir from nowhere, laid down in her bed, and tried to fall asleep.

And woke up in the dark.

Her eyes took a moment to adjust. Besides one torch, there was no other light in the cave. A young woman stood by a waterfall that fell from a cleft in the rock down into a wide dark pool. The orange and yellow flames shone against the pale green water.

"What are you doing here?" a voice asked from behind.

Selene whirled around to see Jon Snow emerge from the dim blackness. Her heart nearly burst with joy when she saw him, very much alive, until she realized he was not speaking to her.

"I heard water," the girl said. "I wanted t' see how deep the cave went." She pointed with the torch to a corner of the cave.

"A dead end?" Jon guessed.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow. These caves are the endless homes of Gendel's children, and they're always hungry," Smiling, she set the torch carefully in a notch of rock, and came toward him, "There's naught to eat in the dark but flesh," she whispered, biting his neck.

_I have to go,_ Selene thought, but she didn't know how to do that.

Jon nuzzled the girl's hair, "You sound like Old Nan, telling Bran a monster story."

The girl punched his shoulder, "An old woman, am I?"

"You're older than me."

"Aye, and wiser." She pushed away from him, and shrugged off her rabbitskin vest.

"What are you doing, Ygritte?"

"Showing you how old I am."

"No, no, no, no…" Selene pressed her hands into her ears and averted her eyes, but she couldn't help looking back at them.

"We shouldn't," Jon said, his eyes saying something different.

"We _should,_ " Ygritte said as she undressed. "If you want to look you have to show. You know nothing, Jon Snow."

"I know I want you," Selene heard him say, all his vows and all his honor seemingly forgotten. She stood before him naked as her name day, and he pulled her closer. "I love the smell of you," he said, "I love your red hair. I love your mouth, and the way you kiss me. I love your smile. I love your teats." He kissed them, one and then the other. "I love your skinny legs, and what's between them." He knelt to kiss her there.

Selene truly looked away this time, fingers in her ears, and hummed loudly, and she was just able to block out the girl's moans.

_Why in all the seven hells can I not wake?_

Afterward, the red-haired girl was almost shy. "That thing you did, with your mouth… Is that…is it what lords do to their ladies, down in the south?"

"I don't think so," Jon said. "I only…wanted to kiss you there, that's all. You seemed to like it."

"Aye. I…I liked it some. No one taught you such? Not even your princess?"

"There's been no one but you. Only you."

Somehow, that hurt more than what had happened earlier.

_I should be happy,_ Selene chided herself. _Jon deserves happiness. Perhaps more than anyone._ If he found it with a wildling girl, then so be it.

"A maid," Ygritte teased. "You were a maid."

"I was a man of the Night's Watch," Jon said with a playful pinch.

Selene's head turned. _Was? What is he now?_

The girl stroked his stomach. "Do you still think of her?" Ygritte asked softly. "Of that soft princess?"

"She wasn't that soft," Jon said with a smile. "I think you would have liked her. Perhaps in another life, she would have been a spearwife too, the two of you close friends."

Ygritte didn't seem convinced. "You still wear her gift."

Jon grabbed at the moonstone necklace on the slender silver chain. He looked down at it. "I suppose I still do. It…I've seen things, Ygritte." His eyes looked haunted.

"Your brother's death."

Jon nodded, "My brother Robb is dead, betrayed at his uncle's wedding. And Selene, she…" Jon cleared his throat. "They killed Robb's child in her."

Ygritte stayed silent.

"I saw it, Ygritte. I saw it all and could do nothing to stop it. I watched as arrows pierced my brother's body, I _felt_ it when Selene's legs were filled with crossbow bolts, I could do nothing but _watch._ " Jon rubbed his eyes, "I saw a man stab my brother through the heart, and I tried to grab him, but my fingers just slipped through, as if I was made of smoke. I heard Selene's screams…I still hear them, even now."

"What was done t' your family was…" Ygritte struggled to find the right words. "The gods have forsaken the south."

Jon looked away, "And I saw what they did to her after. Ygritte, they _poisoned her._ And when she bled and lost her child, I felt her agony and grief. When a man crawled on top of her and tried to…" Jon cleared his throat, "I guess I just thought…if I stopped wearing the necklace, I was abandoning her." He looked down at Ygritte, who was laying her chin on his chest, staring at him with big blue-grey eyes. "But that was a lifetime ago, Ygritte. It's _you_ I love, you must know that."

She eyed the necklace, "I know, but…"

Jon sighed, "You're right. I'll prove it to you."

He reached behind his neck and unlatched the necklace.

Selene gasped.

"Here," Jon said, handing it to Ygritte. As he did, Selene could feel the cave darkening, the edges of the vision becoming blurry.

Ygritte's eyes widened, "You would give it t' me?"

"I love you, Ygritte," Jon said, kissing her, and Selene felt the dark close around her.


	39. The Purple Wedding

_That was such a sweet dream,_ Selene thought drowsily. She had been in Winterfell, running through the godswood with Eleni. Robb had been there, and their children, all of them warm and safe. _If only dreaming made it so…_

She threw back the covers. _I must be brave. If Eleni was here, I would be braver._ Eleni was dead, though; Robb, her child, her father, her uncle, even her white knight Ser Barristan. _All dead but me._

_I have Tyrion,_ Selene reminded herself before she could sink any further into despair. _Myrcella may be in Sunspear, but she's alive. Tommen is kept from me, but he's alive, too. And Sansa. And Jon._

_Jon…_

Selene didn't know how to feel, and that was the worst part. She supposed she was jealous of that wildling girl Jon was with, but the moment she understood it was envy she was feeling, she was furious with herself. _Jon owes me nothing. I married out of duty, and found love. He deserves the same. The chance to be with someone he loves._ Selene wanted that for him, she truly did.

And yet it still hurt when she thought of the wildling girl having _her_ necklace. Ever since then, her silver cornet had been silent and cold.

She threw back the shutters and shivered as goosebumps rose on her arms.

Selene heard the door open as her maids brought hot water for her bath. They were both new to her service. She wasn't sure if they were spies for her mother, her grandfather, or for Varys, but one thing was for certain; they were not her friends.

"I am expected at the queen's breakfast."

She let a maid pull her shift up over her head and climbed into the wooden tub. She was tempted to ask for a cup of wine, to calm her nerves. The wedding was to be at midday in the Great Sept of Baelor across the city. And come evenfall the feast would be held in the throne room; a thousand guests and seventy-seven courses, with singers and jugglers and mummers. But first came breakfast in the Queen's Ballroom, for the Lannisters and the Tyrell men - the Tyrell women would be breaking their fast with Margaery - and a hundred odd knights and lordlings.

_I count as a Lannister,_ Selene thought bitterly, sinking further into the bath.

Her maids were dressing her when Tyrion appeared, his wife and Podrick Payne in tow. He had sworn to take her to the breakfast on one arm, and his wife Sansa Stark on the other.

"You look radiant, Selene." Tyrion turned to his squire, "Pod, be so good as to pour me a cup of wine."

"There will be wine at the breakfast, my lord," Sansa said, looking beautiful beside him in a gown of baby blue.

"There's wine here. You don't expect me to face my sister sober, surely?" Tyrion looked from Sansa to Selene, gesturing at the wine. Selene nodded. "Another glass for my niece, Pod." When she and Tyrion had their glasses in hand, he toasted, "It's a new century, my ladies. The three hundredth year since Aegon's Conquest." Tyrion took a cup of red from Podrick and raised it high, "To Aegon. What a fortunate fellow. Two sisters, two wives, and three big dragons, what more could a man ask for?"

As they entered the ballroom, Tyrion looked from his wife to his niece on either side of him, and smiled, "In all the history of the Seven Kingdoms, no man has been so spectacularly adorned."

Selene rolled her eyes at him, but couldn't help her smile, while Sansa's attempt at a smile turned into a grimace. _She must be overcome with nerves._

In the Queen's Ballroom they broke their fast on honeycakes baked with blackberries and nuts, gammon steaks, bacon, fingerfish crisped in breadcrumbs, autumn pears, and a Dornish dish of onions, cheese, and chopped eggs cooked up with fiery peppers. "Nothing like a hearty breakfast to whet one's appetite for the seventy-seven courses to follow," Tyrion commented as their plates were filled. There were flagons of milk and flagons of mead and flagons of light sweet golden wine to wash it down. Musicians strolled among the tables, piping and fluting and fiddling, while Ser Dontos galloped about on his broomstick horse and Moon Boy made farting sounds with his cheeks and sang rude songs about the guests.

Tyrion scarce touched his food, Selene noticed; though he drank several cups of wine. For herself, she tried a little of the Dornish eggs, despite the heat. Otherwise she only nibbled at the fruit and fish and honeycakes. Every time her mother looked at her, her stomach got so twisted that she felt she would retch up her meal. Joffrey kept looking at Sansa, and the more wine she sipped, the angrier Selene got.

When the food had been cleared away, the queen solemnly presented Joff with the wife's cloak that he would drape over Margaery's shoulders. "It is the cloak I donned when Robert took me for his queen, the same cloak my mother Lady Joanna wore when wed to my lord father." Selene thought it looked threadbare, if truth be told. It made her think of the black and gold Baratheon maiden's cloak Lady Catelyn had made for her own wedding day. _My poor good mother._ Selene knew Lady Catelyn was a prisoner at the Twins, but besides that, nothing. _I will not forget her,_ Selene thought fiercely, _as soon as I have the power, I will free her._

It was time for the gifts. It was traditional in the Reach to give presents to bride and groom on the morning of their wedding; on the morrow they would receive more presents as a couple, but today's tokens were for their separate persons.

From Jalabhar Xho, Joffrey received a great bow of golden wood and quiver of long arrows fletched with green and scarlet feathers; from Lady Tanda a pair of supple riding boots; from Ser Kevan a magnificent red leather jousting saddle; a red gold brooch in the shape of a scorpion from Prince Oberyn, silver spurs from Addam Marbrand, and countless others.

_He plays the gracious king today._ Joffrey could be gallant when it suited him, Selene knew, but it seemed to suit him less and less. Indeed, all his courtesy vanished at once when Tyrion presented him with his own gift; a huge old book called _Lives of the Four Kings,_ bound in leather and gorgeously illuminated. The king leafed though it with no interest. "And what is this, Uncle?"

"Grand Maester Kaeth's history of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good," Tyrion answered.

"A book every king should read, Your Grace," said Ser Kevan.

"My father had no time for books," Joffrey shoved the tome across the table, "If you read less, Uncle Imp, perhaps Lady Sansa would have a baby in her belly by now," He laughed. And when the king laughed, the court laughed with him. "Don't be sad, Sansa, once I've gotten Queen Margaery with child I'll visit your bedchamber and show my little uncle how it's done."

Sansa reddened.

Selene glanced from her to Tyrion, who filled his mouth with wine instead of words. Selene was tempted to do the same, when Joffrey called out to her.

"Dearest sister of mine, do come forward with your gift."

Tywin spoke first, "Your Grace, as you know, your sister has been recovering from her illness and therefore has been excused from presenting a gift."

Tyrion spoke next, "Your sister was kind enough to help me choose my gift, Your Grace."

Joffrey didn't seem to hear either of them. "I'm waiting."

Selene stood and walked slowly to where Joffrey was seated. The entire court seemed to hold their breath. She had been refused the mourning color black on such a joyous occasion. Selene had decided to outshine them all with a dress made entirely of cloth-of-gold. Her shoulders were bare, but her dress shimmered down her arms and torso, bright crystals reflecting the gold and twinkling as she walked. Heavy gold rings fit tightly around her neck and hung from her ears, and on her head was an exquisite piece of craftsmanship, hundreds of golden strips facing outwards, making Selene look like a golden deity. Her dark hair flowed wild and free down her back, and she glided as she walked, the small train of her dress following her like a golden cloud.

Joffrey looked at her attire uncertainly, glancing at their mother. "What have you gotten me?"

Selene smiled warmly, "The same gift you gave me for my own wedding, Your Grace." When Joffrey's look faltered, she nodded encouragingly, "Nothing."

She heard a laugh from somewhere. In desperation, that person tried to turn their laugh into a strangled cough. But before long, other courtiers began to titter.

Joffrey raised his hand. " _Silence."_ His face reddened as he glared at her, "You…You…"

After a quick nod from Cersei, Lord Mace Tyrell came forward to present his gift; a golden chalice three feet tall, with two ornate curved handles, and seven faces glittering with gemstones. Selene took this opportunity to turn graciously and return to her seat.

As she sat down, Tyrion murmured, "That was close."

"Not close enough," Selene replied under her breath.

"Seven faces for Your Grace's seven kingdoms," the bride's father explained. He showed them how each face bore the sigil of one of the great houses, ruby lion, emerald rose, onyx stag, silver trout, blue jade falcon, opal sun, and pearl direwolf.

"A splendid cup," remarked Joffrey with a vicious look at Sansa and Selene, "but we'll need to chip the wolf off and put a squid in its place, I think."

Selene looked at Sansa. The girl was pretending she had not heard. _I will not forget, though. I will remember every slight, every word, and when the time is right, I will pay for each of them back in full._

"Margaery and I will drink deep at the feast, good father," Joffrey lifted the chalice above his head, for everyone to admire.

"The damned thing is as tall as I am," Tyrion muttered in a low voice. "Half a chalice and Joff will be falling down drunk."

_Good,_ she thought. _I hope he breaks his neck._

Lord Tywin waited until last to present the king with his own gift: a longsword. Its scabbard was made of cherry-wood, gold, and oiled red leather, studded with golden lions' heads. The lions had ruby eyes, she saw. The ballroom fell silent as Joffrey unsheathed the blade and thrust the sword above his head. Red and black rippled in the steel, shimmering in the morning light.

"Magnificent," declared Mathis Rowan.

"A sword to sing of, sire," said Lord Redwyne.

"A _king's_ sword," said Ser Kevan Lannister.

Joffrey looked as if he wanted to kill someone right there and then, he was so excited. He slashed at the air and laughed, "A great sword must have a name, my lords! What shall I call it?"

Selene remembered when her father presented her with her black sword a thousand years ago. The onyx stag on the pommel had golden eyes, and Selene had never seen anything more beautiful in her life. "A great sword must have a name, child," her father had said with a warm smile. Young Selene had thought hard before blurting out, "Stormsbane!", hoping it would please her father. It did. Robert had laughed deep and loud, "A fine name."

The guests were shouting out names for Joffrey's new blade. He dismissed a dozen before he heard one he liked. " _Widow's Wail!_ " he cried. "Yes! I'll name it after my sweet sister. It shall make many a widow, too!" He slashed again, and Selene felt the blood drain from her face with rage. Joff tried a downcut, forcing Ser Balon to take a hasty step backward. Laughter rang through the hall at the look on Ser Balon's face.

"Have a care, Your Grace," Ser Addam Marbrand warned the king. "Valyrian steel is perilously sharp."

"I remember." Joffrey brought down Widow's Wait in a savage two-handed slice, onto the book that Tyrion had given him. The heavy leather parted at the stroke, "Sharp! I told you, I am no stranger to Valyrian steel." He chopped down some more while his courtiers laughed.

"Your Grace," Ser Garlan Tyrell said, "perhaps you did not know. In all of Westeros, there were but four copies of that book illuminated in Kaeth's own hand."

"Now there are three." Joffrey undid his own swordbelt to don his new one. "You and Lady Sansa owe me a better present, Uncle Imp. This one is all chopped up to pieces."

Tyrion was staring at his nephew with his mismatched eyes. "Perhaps a knife, sire. To match your sword. A dagger of the same fine Valyrian steel…with a dragonbone hilt, say?"

Selene frowned at Tyrion's strange tone of voice. Joff gave him a sharp look. "You…yes, a dagger to match my sword, good." He nodded, "A…a gold hilt with rubies in it. Dragonbone is too plain."

"As you wish, Your Grace." Tyrion drank another cup.

When the attention turned away from them, Selene leaned in, "What was that about, Uncle?"

Tyrion's eyes flashed, "I will tell you later."

When the time came to leave for the wedding, Tyrion took his wife's hand. Selene followed them.

As they were crossing the yard, Prince Oberyn of Dorne fell in beside them, his black-haired paramour on his arm. Selene glanced at the woman curiously. She was baseborn and unwed, and had borne two bastard daughters for the prince, but she dared to look even the queen in the eyes. Selene had heard the maids chatter about Ellaria Sand, "She was almost a whore when he found her…and now she is near a princess!" _She is not traditionally beautiful,_ Selene thought, _but something about her draws the eyes._

"I once had the great good fortune to see the Citadel's copy of _Lives of Four Kings,_ " Prince Oberyn told her uncle. "The illuminations were wondrous to behold, but Kaeth was too kind by half to King Viserys."

Tyrion gave him a sharp look.

Selene frowned, "Too kind? He scants Viserys shamefully in my view. It should have been _Lives of the Five Kings._ "

The prince laughed, "Viserys hardly reigned a fortnight."

"He reigned more than a year," argued Tyrion.

Oberyn gave a shrug, "A year or a fortnight, what difference does it make? He poisoned his own nephew to take the throne and then did nothing once he had it."

"Baelor starved himself to death, fasting," said Selene. "His uncle served him loyally as Hand, as he had served the Young Dragon before him. Viserys might only have reigned a year, but he ruled for fifteen, while Daeron warred and Baelor prayed."

Tyrion made a sour face, "And if he did remove his nephew, can you blame him? Someone had to save the realm from Baelor's follies."

Sansa was shocked, "But Baelor the Blessed was a great king. He walked the Boneway barefoot to make peace with Dorne, and rescued the Dragonknight from a snake pit. The vipers refused to strike him because he was so pure and holy."

Prince Oberyn smiled, "If you were a viper, my lady, would you want to bite a bloodless stick like Baelor the Blessed? I'd sooner stick my fangs in something juicier…"

"My prince is playing with you, Lady Sansa," said Ellaria Sand. "The septons and singers like to say the snakes did not bite Baelor, but the truth is very different. He was bitten half a hundred times, and should have died from it."

"If he had, Viserys would have reigned a dozen years," said Selene, who loved history, especially about her Targaryen ancestors, "and the Seven Kingdoms might have been better served. Some believe Baelor was deranged from all the venom."

"Yes," said Prince Oberyn, "but I've seen no snakes in this Red Keep of yours. So how do you account for Joffrey?"

"I prefer not to," Tyrion inclined his head stiffly. "If you will excuse us. Our litter awaits." Tyrion helped Sansa inside and clambered awkwardly after her. "Selene?" He turned to help her.

"I want to ride," Selene said.

Tyrion frowned, "The good people of King's Landing are like to throw dung at you, my dear. I'm sorry to say, but despite all your efforts with the common people, I'm afraid they have come quite undone after you married a rebel king and accused your brother of being a bastard."

Selene could believe it, but she didn't want to. She wanted to remember the people of King's Landing as she last saw them; throwing their wares at the gold cloaks so she could escape the capital. She wondered if it would be better to ride out in mourning clothes, than in the bold eye-catching golden dress she chose. _I hate having to think about this nonsense._

She chose to listen to Tyrion.

"Selly!"

Selene spun on her heel to see her younger brother Tommen running toward her.

"Tommen!" Selene laughed as he threw himself in her arms. She spun him around. "My dear brother." She caressed his face in her hands, covering his cheeks with kisses as he giggled. Tommen was still as plump as she remembered, his white blonde curls falling into his emerald green eyes as he looked up at her with adoration.

"I've missed you," Tommen said, his eyes teary.

Selene was choked up, too. "I've missed you, too. Not a day has gone by that I haven't thought of you and Myrcella."

"Tommen!" Cersei called from the largest litter, reserved for the royal family. "Come here, darling."

Tommen grabbed Selene by the hand and walked her to the royal litter. "Mother, I want her to come with us."

Cersei's smile was so forced, Selene was surprised her face didn't crack. "I've told you about your sister-"

"I don't care!"

Both Selene and Cersei were taken aback. Tommen never raised his voice, and the thought of him doing so to their mother was almost inconceivable. _Yet here he is, fighting for my place._ It warmed Selene's heart.

Cersei glanced at the Kingsguard, who were pretending not to watch. "Very well. Get in."

"Yes!" Tommen cheered.

Selene laughed, and followed her brother into the litter.

Mercifully, Joffrey was not there. When Cersei saw Selene's relief and surprise, she said, "The king will be leading our party to the Sept on horseback."

Tommen turned to his elder sister. "Where's Eleni?" he asked once the litter was on its way.

Selene looked away. _She was killed._ "She died."

Tommen's eyes filled with tears, "She was the best kitten to ever live."

Selene's laugh was sad, "She was. I could tell she missed you very much. She loved you and Myrcella." Selene smiled at all the times Tommen and Myrcella treated the lioness like a pet, and how gentle Eleni always was with them.

When Tommen leaned his head on her shoulder, Selene wrapped an arm around him. Eleni had been in his life for as long as he could remember. Selene glanced up at Cersei, who was watching her children with interest.

"Do you write to Myrcella often?" Selene asked.

Tommen nodded, "Every week!"

"That's great," Selene smiled. "How is she? Does she like Dorne?"

Tommen told her about their sister Myrcella. How she had grown fond of Dornish food, how her pale skin was starting to brown in the sun instead of burn, and how she doted on Trystane Martell; the kindest and sweetest boy to ever live, if Myrcella was to be believed.

"You should write to Myrcella, too!" Tommen said, "She would love that. She misses you. Wouldn't Myrcella love that, Mother?"

Selene looked at Cersei. Her mother's eyes went back and forth between her children. "Of course, my sweet boy," Cersei eventually said. "Selene can write all the letters she wants."

Tommen beamed, but Selene heard the truth beneath her mother's words. _I can write all the letters I want, but Myrcella will never get them._

"Mother told me you married a bad man. Did you love him?" Tommen asked. "Is that why you left us?"

Selene looked down at her little brother, who was everything her other brother was not. "I never wanted to leave you, Tommen," she started, caressing his face gently.

Cersei cleared her throat.

_This is not about me and her,_ Selene thought. _This is about Tommen._

"Do you remember Robb Stark? When we all went to Winterfell?"

"Yes. A little."

"What did you think of him?"

Tommen scrunched up his face, "I don't know. He seemed nice. He danced with you."

"He did," Selene smiled. "He danced with me." She cleared her throat, "I love…I loved him very much, Tommen. He was brave and kind, and always did what he thought was right, no matter what. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him."

Tommen's eyes were sad, "He died."

Selene refused to look at Cersei, but could feel the heat of her gaze on her face. "Yes, he did. It's very…complicated, my love. I promise I'll tell you everything when you're older, but right now… Just know, I never wanted anything bad to happen to you, alright?"

"I know," Tommen smiled. "Joff said you hated us, but I knew he was lying."

"That's no way to speak of your brother the king," Cersei said.

Selene ignored her. "Of course he was. What do I always say?"

"Joffrey always lies," Tommen and Selene chorused, giggling.

"Selene-" Cersei said, testily.

"He does, Mother," Tommen argued.

Selene tried, and failed, to fight her smile. It seemed her younger brother no longer needed her protection as much as he once did.

###

The new crown that her grandfather had given the Faith stood twice as tall as the one before it, a glory of crystal and spun gold. Rainbow light flashed and shimmered every time the High Septon moved his head, but Selene had to wonder how the man could bear the weight. And even she had to concede that Joffrey and Margaery made a regal couple, as they stood side-by-side between the towering gilded statues of the Father and the Mother.

The bride was lovely in ivory silk and Myrish lace, her skirts decorated with floral patterns picked out in seed pearls. As Renly's widow, she might have worn the Baratheon colors, gold and black, yet she came to them a Tyrell, in a maiden's cloak made of a hundred cloth-of-gold roses sewn to green velvet. Selene wondered if Margaery really was a maiden. _Not that Joffrey is like to know the difference._

The king looked near as splendid as his bride, in his doublet of dusky rose, beneath a cloak of deep crimson velvet blazoned with his stag and lion. The crown rested easily on his curls, gold on gold.

The seven vows were made, the seven blessings invoked, and the seven promises exchanged. When the wedding song had been sung and the challenge had gone unanswered, it was time for the exchange of cloaks. Robb had taken her maiden's cloak from her shoulders tenderly, and placed his direwolf on her gently, yet firmly. _You are mine to protect,_ she remembered him saying. Selene watched as Joffrey draped Margaery in the crimson-and-gold and leaned close to fasten it at her throat. And that easily she passed from her father's protection to her husband's. _But who will protect her from Joff?_ Selene glanced at the Knight of Flowers, standing with the other Kingsguard. _You had best keep you sword well honed, Ser Loras._

"With this kiss I pledge my love!" Joffrey declared in ringing tones. When Margaery echoed the words he pulled her close and kissed her long and deep. Rainbow lights danced one more about the High Septon's crown as he suddenly declared Joffrey of Houses Baratheon and Lannister and Margaery of House Tyrell to be one flesh, one heart, one soul.

_I use to dream of being wed in a grand ceremony like this,_ Selene thought as she looked around the giant sept. _I had a northern ceremony. It was quick, simple, and perfect._ At the time, Selene remembered the war being heavy in their hearts, but now she only remembered how the snow fell gently around them, how splendid Robb had looked in his grey doublet, how he spared her from the bedding ceremony, and how gentle and loving he was with her on their first night as husband and wife. _At least I have those memories._

Ser Loras and Ser Meryn led the procession from the sept in their white scale armor and snowy cloaks. Then came Prince Tommen, scattering rose petals from a basket before the king and queen. After the royal couple followed Queen Cersei and Lord Tyrell, then the bride's mother arm-in-arm with Lord Tywin. The Queen of Thorns tottered after them on the arm of Ser Kevan Lannister. Next came a brother of the bride, who offered his arm to a sister of the groom.

"My lady," Ser Garlan Tyrell said with a flourishing bow.

"Ser," Selene gave him a deep curtsey as she took his arm. She liked Ser Garlan well, as he was the reason she was allowed to hold a sword again. And it seemed he was the only one who didn't give her strange or pitiful looks.

As the ceremony ended, Selene heard the masses cheering outside even before the royal couple reached the doors. The mob loved Margaery so much they were even willing to love Joffrey. She had belonged to Renly, the handsome young lord who had loved them so well he had come back from beyond the grave to save them at the Battle of the Blackwater. And the bounty of Highgarden had come with her, flowing up the roseroad from the south. They didn't seem to remember that it had been Mace Tyrell who closed the roseroad to begin with, and made the bloody famine.

They stepped out in the crisp autumn air. "I feared we'd never escape," Ser Garlan quipped. When he noticed her stare, he asked, "What are you thinking of, princess?"

"Another wedding," Selene answered. Before he could press her further, she asked, "Why are you not yet married, Ser Garlan?"

"Oh, my mother has tried," He laughed. "There's a Fossoway girl whose name keeps coming up, but…I'm the second son. I figure I have until my older brother Willas gets married before I'm forced to choose my lady."

"And what kind of lady is she, ser?"

"The most beautiful in all the realm," Ser Garlan said dreamily. "One as clever as she is kind, fierce and loyal, with a good heart and quick wit to match my own."

"Sounds like quite a rare maiden," Selene jested. "And where do you expect to find such a lady?"

"Oh, she's much closer than you would think."

As they clambered into a litter that was to carry them back to the Red Keep, Selene went to close the curtains.

Ser Garlan straightened, "Would you keep them open, princess? It's such a lovely day. And you would deprive King's Landing the privilege of seeing you look so comely."

Selene laughed, and told Ser Garlan of Tyrion's warning. "'The only thing I'm depriving them of is the chance to throw dung at a rebel queen."

"Only a fool would hate you so."

Selene gave him another look. _Is he trying to court me?_ It made more sense when he was simply being kind to her, almost as if demonstrating the kindness of his older brother, but his affection was becoming more apparent. He was a second son, and not the son Olenna had offered. _What game is the Queen of Thorns playing?_

After arriving at the Red Keep, Ser Garlan escorted her to her uncle's chambers, where she was to meet Tyrion and Sansa before going to the feast. Ser Garlan waited in the solar, while Selene went into the chambers where Tyrion and Sansa were getting ready.

Sansa had changed into a gown of silvery satin trimmed in vair, with dagged sleeves that almost touched the floor, lined with soft purple felt. Her dark-haired maid was arranging her hair artfully in a delicate silver net winking with dark purple gemstones.

Selene nudged Tyrion. He murmured under his breath, "She hates me. As well she should."

"Nonsense," Selene chided him. Ever since Tyrion had fought in the Battle of the Blackwater, he had gained a new scar that covered half of his face. It made him more self-conscious than ever, though Selene tried her best to lift his spirits by saying it made him look daring and brave. She nudged him again.

"Will you stop?" He whispered to her, but louder he said, "Lady Sansa, you shall undoubtedly be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight." He gave Selene a pointed glare.

"Hey!" Selene protested.

"What?" Tyrion laughed. "You will be the second."

Even Sansa gave a faint smile.

"My lady," the dark-eyed, dark haired maid said wistfully, "couldn't I come serve at the table? I so want to see the pigeons fly out of the pie."

Sansa looked at her uncertainly, "The queen has chosen all the servers, Shae."

"And the hall will be too crowded," Tyrion said dismissively, though Selene was surprised at how annoyed he was with the maid. "There will be musicians strolling all through the castle, though, and tables in the outer ward with food and drink for all." Tyrion inspected his new doublet, crimson velvet with padded shoulders and puffed sleeves slashed to show the black satin underlining. Selene could see the disappointment in his eyes. _He knows it to be a handsome garment, and wishes to be handsome enough to be worthy of it._

Selene bowed low to give her uncle a kiss on the cheek, "You look very handsome, dear uncle."

Tyrion gave her a grateful smile.

Selene had another cup of wine as they dressed, and then watched as Tyrion took his wife by the arm and escorted her out of the chambers. Ser Garlan was waiting to take her own, and together the four joined the river of silk, satin, and velvet flowing toward the throne room. Some guests had gone inside to find their places on the benches. Others were milling in front of the doors, enjoying the unseasonable warmth of the afternoon. Tyrion led Sansa around the yard to perform the necessary duties, and Selene watched the young girl.

_She is good at this,_ she thought as she watched Sansa tell Lord Gyles that his cough was sounding better, compliment young Elinor Tyrell on her gown, and question Jalabhar Xho about wedding customs in the Summer Isles. Selene's cousin Ser Lancel had been brought down by Ser Kevan, the first time he'd left the sickbed since the Battle of the Blackwater. _He looks ghastly._ His hair had turned white and brittle, and he was as thin as a stick. Without his father beside him, holding him up, he would have surely collapsed. Yet when Sansa praised his valor and said how good it was to see him getting strong again, both Lancel and Ser Kevan beamed. _She would have made Joffrey a good queen and a better wife, if he had the sense to love her._ Selene wondered if Joff was capable of loving anyone.

"You look quite exquisite, child," Lady Olenna Tyrell said as she staggered up to Selene and Ser Garlan. "And on the arm of a Tyrell man, I would expect no less. Is my grandson treating you well?"

Selene glanced at Garlan, "Better than I deserve, no doubt."

Lady Olenna smiled, revealing her gums, "That is good to hear, princess. I do hope you see how well loving a Tyrell man can be."

_Of course I do,_ Selene thought as she Lady Olenna left them to fuss with Sansa's gemstone hair net and speak to Tyrion. _Does she think she's being subtle?_

As Selene walked up to Tyrion and Sansa, Olenna was walking away. Tyrion turned to Selene and said under his breath, "I'm beginning to wonder whether Lord Luthor Tyrell rode off that cliff intentionally."

Selene laughed harder than she had in a while. Both Sansa and Ser Garlan looked confused, but neither Tyrion nor Selene offered any explanation.

Suddenly, and without warning, Tywin Lannister was at Selene's elbow. "Granddaughter," he said politely, "a moment."

Selene gave Tyrion a look before giving Tywin her arm. Together, she walked with her grandfather around the courtyard.

Tywin nodded as they passed guests, and said to her without looking, "I see you're not wearing black."

Selene smiled brightly at a guest, who had bowed before her, her words directed to Tywin, "I was forbidden from wearing black."

"And so you chose the brightest gown possible."

"I chose to wear the gold of my mother's house."

Tywin pursed his lips. He quickly returned to his dignified self. "I have been dealing with your marital situation."

Selene's heart dropped, "You have made your decision?"

"Ser Horas Redwyne."

Selene finally looked at her grandfather, aghast, "Horror?"

Tywin did not know about Horas's nickname. "No, _Horas._ He's the heir to the Arbor. You will secure the Redwyne fleet."

_I will not marry Horas Redwyne._ He and his twin brother Hobber, otherwise known as Slobber, were both orange-haired boys with homely, freckled faces.

"He's not even from a great house," Selene pointed out. "I'm the king's sister."

"Widowed, disgraced sister," Tywin said, "and one I do not trust. Did you think I would marry you to the heir of Highgarden? Or a prince of Dorne?"

Selene looked up at her grandfather innocently, "You don't trust me?"

Tywin looked at her fondly. From afar, no one would have guessed the ice in his voice when he said, "Not for one second."

It was then Prince Oberyn decided to grace them with his presence, "Princess. Lord Tywin."

Tywin nodded, "Prince Oberyn. It's a shame your brother could not attend the wedding. Please give him my regards. With any luck the gout will abate with time and he'll be able to walk again."

"They call it the rich man's disease. A wonder you don't have it."

Tywin regarded him cooly, "Nobleman in my part of the country don't enjoy the same lifestyle as our counterparts in Dorne."

"Well everywhere have their differences. In some places, the highborn frown on those of low birth," Oberyn gestured to his paramour, who was socializing with other Dornish nobleman. "In other places the rape and murder of women and unborn children is considered distasteful." His eyes flickered to Selene, and then back to Tywin. "What a fortunate thing your granddaughter Myrcella has been sent to live in the latter sort of place."

Tywin held Oberyn's gaze, not speaking. Selene looked back and forth between the Red Viper and the Old Lion, wary.

"I see you've taken an interest in my other granddaughter."

"Highborn girls always attract interest," Oberyn reached for Selene's hand. She gave it. He placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand, his eyes never leaving Tywin's. "Especially the fascinating ones."

"Fascinating?" Selene asked with a raised brow, amused.

"In her young life, she has been a daughter, wife, and sister to three different kings. Tell me, my lord Hand, have you given any more thought to my proposal?"

Selene's eyes widened in surprise. She knew Oberyn was considering marriage, but she had no idea he dared take it to Tywin.

Tywin wore a ghost of a smile. "I am sure my granddaughter is flattered by your interest, but I have found a match with a suitable young man of her age. You understand, surely?"

Oberyn smiled, but it did not reach his eyes, "Of course, my lord. You, as her kin, have her best interest at heart, always."

Before Tywin could respond, the music started playing from within the throne room, signaling the guests to take their seats. "If you two will excuse me." Tywin said with a polite nod.

Selene stepped closer to Oberyn, smiling, but her tone was sharp, "What are you trying to do?"

Oberyn laughed, as if she had said something funny. Appearances were everything. "Getting the measure of Lord Tywin Lannister. And showing him that the sun does not tremble before the lion." He turned to her, "You fear him, don't you?"

"I know what he's capable of."

Oberyn's eyes flashed, "As do I, my lady. Trust in your future husband."

"I have not agreed to that," Selene said coyly.

Prince Oberyn stepped closer, placing his hand on the small of her back. "Not yet, but you want to," he said softly.

A chill ran up her spine. The Prince of Dorne was older than her, to be sure, but he was undeniably an attractive man. If anything, his reputation and daring nature added to his appeal. He was surely several steps above Horas Redwyne in her eyes.

"My grandfather has made his decision," Selene informed him.

"Yes, but he hasn't made yours."

Although evenfall was still an hour away, the throne room was already a blaze of light. The guests stood along the tables as heralds called out the names and titles of the lords and ladies making their entrance. Pages in the royal livery escorted them down the broad central aisle. The gallery above was packed with musicians, drummers and pipers and fiddlers, strings and horns and skins.

_The gallery._ Selene suddenly paled. The bowmen who had shot her and Robb had been hidden amongst the musicians in the gallery of the Twins.

Ser Garlan noticed her discomfort. "Are you alright, my lady?"

Tyrion turned, saw her face, and waddled toward her, "Niece?"

Selene bent before him. "I can't do this," she whispered.

"You can," Tyrion said firmly. "Let them look. Let them stare and whisper until they've had their fill. You will not hide yourself for their sake. You will not."

Selene took a deep breath, "How do you always know what to say?"

Tyrion gave her a sour smile, "I had to say those very words to myself walking in, my dear."

Joffrey and Margaery rode into the throne room on matching white chargers. Pages ran before them, scattering rose petals under their hooves. The king and queen had changed for the feast as well. Joffrey wore striped black-and crimson breeches and a cloth-of-gold doublet with black satin sleeves and onyx studs. Margaery had exchanged the demure gown that she had worn in the sept for one much more revealing, a confection in pale green samite with a tight-laced bodice that bared her shoulders and the tops of her small breasts. Around her brow was a slim golden crown. Her smile, as always, was shy and sweet. _A lovely girl, and a sweeter fate than my brother deserves._

The Kingsguard escorted them up onto the upper dais, to the seats of honor in the shadow of the Iron Throne. Cersei embraced Margaery and kissed her cheeks. Lord Tywin did the same, and then Lancel and Ser Kevan. Joffrey received kisses from the bride's father and his two new brothers, Loras and Garlan. No one seemed in any great rush to kiss Tyrion or Selene. She, Tyrion, and Sansa had been seated a few seats from the king's right. A pricklier woman would have taken that for a slight, given she _was_ the king's sister. Selene would have been glad if there were a hundred people between her and Joffrey.

"Let the cups be filled!" Joffrey proclaimed, when the gods had been given their due. His cupbearer poured a whole flagon of dark Arbor red into the golden wedding chalice that Lord Tyrell had given him that morning. The king had to use both hands to lift it, " _To my wife the queen!"_

" _Margaery!"_ the hall shouted back at him. " _Margaery! Margaery! To the queen!"_ A thousand cups rang together, and the wedding feast was well and truly begun. Selene Baratheon Stark drank with the rest, emptying her cup on the first toast and signaling for it to be refilled as soon as she was seated again.

The first dish was a creamy soup of mushrooms and buttered snails, served in gilded bowls. Selene had scarcely touched the breakfast, so any food was welcome. _One done, seventy-six to come. Seventy-seven dishes, while there are still starving children in this city, and men who would kill for a radish. They might not love the Tyrells half so well if they could see them now._

Selene looked around for a distraction, but everywhere she looked she saw happy smiling faces. There was one woman, sitting almost at the foot of the third table on the left…the wife of one of the Fossoways, she thought, and heavy with his child. Her delicate beauty was is no way diminished by her belly, nor was her pleasure in the food and frolics. Selene watched as her husband fed her morsels off his plate. They drank deep from the same cup, and would kiss often and unpredictably. Whenever they did, his hand would gently rest upon her stomach, a tender and protective gesture.

Selene felt a hand grab hers.

"Don't despair, my dear," Tyrion said softly as she wiped a tear from her eye before anyone could see. "Your time will come."

"No. It won't." Selene called for more wine as the heralds were summoning the first of the seven singers.

Grey-bearded Hamish the Harper announced that he would perform "for the ears of gods and men, a song ne'er heard before in all the Seven Kingdoms." He called it, "Lord Renly's Ride."

His fingers moved across the strings of the high harp, filling the room with sweet sound. " _From his throne of bones the Lord of Death looked down on the murdered lord,"_ Hamish began, and went on to tell how Renly, after repenting of trying to place his niece on the throne, had defied the Lord of Death himself and crossed back to the land of the living to defend the realm against his brother.

Queen Margaery was teary-eyed by the end, when the shade of brave Lord Renly flew to her to steal one last look at his true love's face.

"My uncle never repented of anything in his life," Selene told Tyrion, "but if I'm any judge, Hamish just won himself a guilded lute."

The Harper also gave them several more familiar songs. "A Rose of Gold" was for the Tyrells, no doubt, as "The Rains of Castamere" was meant to flatter her grandfather. When it began to play, Selene paled. The song sent her back to the Twins.

Sansa noticed this time, "Selene?"

"It's alright, Sansa," Selene said, shaking her head, as if she could shake the terrible memories from her mind. "I'm alright."

Tyrion knew better, though, and held her hand through each bloody rendition of that song that played throughout the evening.

Thereafter dishes and diversions succeeded one after the other in a staggering profusion, buoyed along upon a flood of wine and ale. Hamish left them, his place taken by a smallish elderly bear who danced clumsily to pipe and drum while the wedding guests ate trout cooked in a crust of crushed almonds. Moon Boy mounted his stilts and strode around the tables in pursuit of Butterbumps, and the lords and ladies sampled roast herons and cheese-and-onion pies. A troupe of Pentoshi tumblers performed cartwheels and handstands, balanced platters on their bare feet, and stood on each other's shoulders to form a pyramid.

As the singers switched again, Selene overheard Tyrion attempting to make conversation with his wife, "Which did you prefer?"

Sansa blinked at him, "My lord?"

"The singers. Which did you prefer?"

"I…I'm sorry, my lord. I was not listening."

She was not eating, either. "Sansa, is anything amiss?" Selene asked, feeling foolish even as she asked it. _What isn't?_

"No, Selene." Sansa looked away from them, and feigned unconvincing interest in Moon Boy pelting Ser Dontos with dates.

"Is anything amiss?" Tyrion repeated incredulously to Selene, privately. "All her kin are slaughtered and she's wed to me, and you wonder what's amiss?"

Selene sighed, "I know, I know." She gave him a sidelong glance, "I'm sorry she's distant now, Tyrion, but she knows how lucky she is to have you as her husband and lord."

Tyrion laughed darkly, " _Lucky?_ "

"Poor choice of words," Selene admitted, "but no less true. Any other man would have taken her virtue, whether she gave it or not. And you're kind to her. Give her time, and she will come to love you as I do."

Tyrion glanced at the happy couple Selene had been watching earlier. The husband swept in for a lingering kiss, and the pregnant woman laughed. Their joy was infectious. After a moment, Tyrion murmured, "I don't want her to love me as you do. I want _that_."

Selene gripped her uncle's hand.

The heralds blew their trumpets. "To sing for the golden lute," one cried, "Galyeon of Cuy."

Galyeon was a big barrel-chested man with a black beard, a bald head, and a thunderous voice that filled every corner of the throne room. He brought no fewer than six musicians to play for him. "Noble lords and ladies fair, I sing but one song for you this night," he announced. "It is the song of two siblings, and how a realm was saved." The drummer began a slow ominous beat.

" _The dark lady brooded in her high tower,_ " Galyeon began, " _in a castle as black as the night._ "

" _Black was her hair and black was her soul,_ " the musicians chanted in unison. A flute came in.

" _She feasted on blood and envy, and filled her cup full with spite,"_ sang Galyeon. " _My father once ruled seven kingdoms, she said to her northern wolf lord. I'll take what was his and make it all mine. Let his son feel the point of my sword."_

Selene frowned. "Is that supposed to be me?" she asked incredulously. Tyrion didn't meet her eye, though she felt hundreds of others on her.

_"_ _A brave young boy with hair of gold,"_ his players chanted, and a fiddle began to play.

"If I am ever Hand again, the first thing I'll do is hang all the singers," said Tyrion, too loudly.

Selene laughed lightly beside him, and Ser Garlan leaned over to say, "A valiant deed unsung is no less valiant."

" _The dark lady assembled her legions, they gathered around her like crows. And thirsty for blood they gathered their arms…"_

"…and cut off poor Tyrion's nose." Tyrion finished.

Selene laughed again, "Perhaps you should be a singer, uncle. You rhyme as well as this Galyeon."

"No, my lady," Ser Garlan said. "My lord of Lannister was made to do great deeds, not sing of them. But for his chain and his wildfire, the foe would have been across the river. And if Tyrion's wildlings had not slain most of Lord Stannis's scouts, we would never have been able to take him unawares."

His words made Selene feel absurdly grateful, and she could see they mollified Tyrion as Galyeon sang endless verses about the valor of the boy king and his mother, the golden queen.

"She never did that," Sansa blurted out.

"Never believe anything you hear in a song, my lady." Tyrion summoned more wine.

Soon it was full night outside the tall windows, and still the singer sung on. His song had seventy-seven verses, thought it seemed more like a thousand. Selene drank her way through the last twenty or so, keeping up with Tyrion, to help resist the urge to stuff mushrooms in her ears. By the time the singer had taken his bows, some of the guests were drunk enough to begin providing unintentional entertainment of their own. Grand Maester Pyrcelle fell asleep while dancers from the Summer Isles swirled and spun in robes made of bright feathers and smoky silk. Elk was being brought out when one of Lord Rowan's knights stabbed a Dornishman. The gold cloaks dragged them both away, one to a cell to rot and the other to get sewn up by Maester Ballabar.

Selene was toying with her meal when King Joffrey lurched to his feet, "Everyone, silence!" The hall quieted when the king spoke. "Clear the floor. There's been too much amusement here today. A royal wedding is not an amusement. A royal wedding is history. The time has come for all of us to contemplate our history."

Selene gave Tyrion a sidelong glance.

"My lords, my ladies, I give you…King Joffrey! King Stannis! Queen Selene!"

The gold cloaks opened the great doors at the end of the hall. From where she sat, she could only see the tops of three striped lances as three riders entered side by side. A wave of laughter followed them down the center aisle toward the king. _They must be riding on ponies,_ she concluded…until they came into full view.

"The Clash of Stags!"

The jousters were three dwarfs running around with fake mounts. A blonde dwarf with a golden crown on a paper antlered lion, with Joffrey's sigil on its side. A close cropped dark hair dwarf rode a paper woman in red, with red hair, his burning heart sigil on his chest. And last came a female dwarf wearing a long black wig riding a paper silver stag, Selene's own stag and wolf device on its side.

Selene felt a thousand eyes on her. She glanced at Tyrion, whose face was twisted with rage. Tommen was whopping and hopping up and down in his seat, Cersei was chuckling politely, and even Tywin looked amused. Of all those on the high table, only she, Tyrion, and Sansa were not smiling.

The dwarfs reigned up beneath the dais to salute the king. After, they ran around in confusion. The dwarf version of Selene shouted, "Queen in the North!", the dwarf version of Stannis yelled, "I am the rightful king!", and Joffrey's dwarf, "You're both traitors!" After looking around at the crowd, he shouted, "Let the war begin!"

Dwarf Selene walked in front, "I am the rightful queen!"

The crowd booed her.

Out of nowhere, another dwarf with black hair came riding…what looked to be a paper machete man with roses on his shirt, and shouted, "I am Lord Renly! And I will help you be queen, so I can be your Hand!" Dwarf Renly shook his mount's rear in Dwarf Stannis's face.

Dwarf Stannis raised his weapon, "Away, degenerate, away!" and he started to club Dwarf Renly in the rear. Dwarf Renly was giggling like mad.

Selene heard a chair scrape the floor, and then watched as Ser Loras stormed out of the throne room.

While Dwarf Stannis and Dwarf Renly were fighting, Dwarf Joffrey squared off with Dwarf Selene, "Sweet sister, for our beloved father's sake, sheath your sword!"

Dwarf Selene raised her black wooden sword, "I would, but you keep moving the sheath!" She cried as she swung her sword at Dwarf Joffrey. The crowd roared with laughter as Dwarf Joffrey disarmed Dwarf Selene, "No!"

"I'll protect you!" A voice cried, and a dwarf riding a paper horse with the Stark direwolf on it's flank and shield, a great wolf hat enveloping his head. "I'm King in the North, and I will use this Baratheon girl to seize the Iron Throne!"

"My hero!" Dwarf Selene cried. Their mounts nuzzled each other, the two dwarfs making suggestive noises.

Selene felt the laughter crash over her like a wave. She watched, but unlike Tyrion, her face was blank and vacant.

Dwarf Renly disappeared, and Dwarf Joffrey launched an arrow into Dwarf Stannis's heart. Green tendrils popped from the arrow.

"Not wildfire!" Dwarf Stannis screamed. The people cheered when Dwarf Stannis ran from the hall, crying.

Dwarf Joffrey and Dwarf Robb suddenly were holding lances, and then ran toward each other. When the lances missed, Selene saw Sansa flinch. "I'm the King of the North!" Dwarf Robb shouted. They ran at each other again, and when Sansa flinched, Selene reached over Tyrion and took the girl's hand.

The third time, Dwarf Joffrey did not miss.

Drawf Robb's wolf hat was knocked clean off, the dwarf underneath staggering and falling, pretending to die. Dwarf Selene wailed.

Selene felt Sansa squeezing her hand, but besides that felt nothing but cold.

Dwarf Joffrey removed his fake mount and paraded around in triumph. Grabbing the discarded wolf head, Dwarf Joffrey held it to his crotch and thrusted.

Joffrey was snorting wine from both nostrils. The rest of the court were gasping for air they were laughing so hard.

"I'm going to kill him," Selene murmured.

"It's not his fault," Tyrion said, about the dwarf.

"Not him." Selene turned to look at her brother.

As the dwarfs took their bow, the crowd's applause was deafening.

"Well fought, well fought!" King Joffrey said, lurching to his feet. "A champion's purse," he shouted. "Though, you're not the champion yet, are you? A true champion defeats all challengers. Surely there are others out there who still dare to challenge my reign?" Joffrey looked around the silent hall.

Selene placed her hands on the table to rise. It was Tyrion who grabbed her by the arm to hold her down. Selene's eyes found Tywin, who's warning look was fearsome to behold.

"Uncle," Joffrey said, oblivious, "how about you? I bet they have a spare costume?" He laughed, the court laughing with him.

Tyrion stood, "One taste of combat was enough for me, Your Grace. I would like to keep what remains of my face. I think you should fight. This was but a poor imitation of your own bravery on the field of battle. I speak as a firsthand witness. Climb down from the high table with your new Valyrian sword, and show everyone how a true king wins throne." Tyrion gestured at Dwarf Renly, "Be careful, though. This one is clearly mad with lust. It would be a shame for the king to lose his virtue hours before his wedding night."

Selene bit back a laugh. A few courtiers were also trying to suppress their laughter.

It was a relief when the musicians began to play. The tiny jousters were led from the hall, the guests returned to their meals, and Tyrion called for more wine. But suddenly Selene felt Ser Garlan's hand on her sleeve. "My lady, beware," the knight warned. "The king."

Selene turned in her seat. Joffrey was almost upon them, red-faced and staggering, wine slopping over the rim of the great golden wedding chalice he carried in both hands.

"Your Grace," was all Tyrion had time to say before the king upended the chalice on his head. The wine washed over his face in a red torrent. It drenched his hair, ran down his cheeks, and stained his doublet.

"How do you like that, Imp?" Joffrey mocked.

Selene stood, "You'll regret that."

"That was ill done, Your Grace," Ser Garlan said quietly.

"Not at all, Ser Garlan," Tyrion said, daring not to let this grow any uglier than it was, not here, with half of the realm looking on. "Not every king would think to honor a humble subject by serving him from his own royal chalice. A pity the wine spilled."

"It didn't _spill_ ," said Joffrey, too graceless to take the retreat Tyrion was offering him. "And I wasn't _serving_ you, either."

Queen Margaery suddenly appeared at Joffrey's elbow. "My sweet king," the Tyrell girl entreated, "come, return to your place, there's another singer waiting."

"Alaric of Eysen," said Lady Olenna, leaning on her cane and taking no more notice of the wine-soaked dwarf than Margaery. "I do so hope they play 'The Rains of Castamere.' It has been an hour, I've forgotten how it goes."

"My father has a toast he wants to make, as well," said Margaery. "Your Grace, please."

"I have no wine," Joffrey declared. "How can I drink a toast if I have no wine? Uncle Imp, you can serve me. Since you won't joust you'll be my cupbearer."

"I would be most honored."

" _It's not meant to be an honor!_ " Joffrey screamed. "Bend down and pick up my chalice," Tyrion did as he was bid, giving Selene a look that said _I can handle this, don't do anything stupid,_ but as he reached for the handle Joff kicked the chalice through his legs.

White-hot rage lanced up Selene's chest. _I'm going to do it. I'm going to kill him._

Tyrion gave Selene a sharp look, as if reading her mind.

"Pick it _up!_ Are you as clumsy as you are ugly?" Before Tyrion could kneel, Sansa of all people grabbed it from under the table and handed it to him. The look Tyrion gave her was so grateful it was almost loving.

"Good, now fill it with wine."

Tyrion claimed a flagon from a serving girl and filled the goblet three-quarters full.

"Kneel," Joffrey said softly.

Tyrion froze, his jaw set. Only the upper dais was aware of this power struggle.

"Kneel before your king." A ghost of a smile was on Joff's lips.

Selene recognized the look Tyrion was giving Joffrey. _He will not kneel._

When Joff saw that Tyrion was not moving, his head tilted, his smile gone. "Kneel."

Selene looked for Tywin. _If anyone can control Joffrey, it's him._

When Tyrion did not move, Joffrey shifted uncomfortably, "I said… _kneel!_ "

"Your Grace," Lord Tywin said, impeccably correct. "They are bringing in the pie. Your sword is needed."

"The pie?" Joffrey took his queen by the hand, "Come, my lady, it's the pie."

The guests stood, shouting and applauding and smashing their wine cups together as the great pie made its slow way down the length of the hall, wheeled along by a half dozen beaming cooks.

Tyrion made his way back to his chair. "All I need now is for a dove to shit on me and my day will be complete." The wine soaked through his doublet and he needed to change, but no one was permitted to leave until after the bedding ceremony.

"I can't stand by while he treats you like this," Selene said in a low voice.

"Better he toy with me than either of you," Tyrion said to Selene on his right, and Sansa to his left.

Joffrey and Margaery joined hands to lift the Widow's Wail and swung it down together in a silvery arc. When the piecrust broke, the doves burst forth in a swirl of white feathers, scattering in every direction, flapping for the windows and the rafters. A roar of delight went up from the benches, and the fiddlers and pipers in the gallery began to play a sprightly tune. Joff took his bride in his arms, and whirled her around merrily.

"Can we leave now?" Sansa asked desperately.

"Let's find out," Tyrion murmured.

The three of them stood.

"Uncle, where are you going? You're my cupbearer, remember?" Joffrey turned, "And my sweet sister, will you not stay as well?"

"I need to change into fresh garb, Your Grace," Tyrion said. "May I have your leave?"

"No, you're perfect the way you are. Serve me my wine." Joffrey looked at Selene, "And your excuse?"

"I'm feeling quite faint, brother." In truth, Selene's mind was cloudy with wine, and she feared what she would do if Joffrey kept behaving like this.

"You would be, wouldn't you?" Joffrey looked about the hall. "The last time you attended a wedding feast ended horribly, if I remember correctly."

Selene dug her fingernails into her palms so hard she drew blood.

The king's chalice was one the table where he'd left it. Selene handed it to Tyrion to save him the indignity of climbing a chair to reach it. Joffrey yanked it from Tyrion's hands and drank long and deep, his throat working as the wine ran purple down his chin.

"My lord," Margaery said, "we should return to our places. My brother wishes to toast to us."

"My uncle hasn't eaten his pigeon pie." Holding the chalice one-handed, Joff jammed his other into Tyrion's pie. "It's ill luck not to eat the pie," he scolded as he filled his mouth with hot spiced pigeon. "See, it's good." Spitting out flakes of crust, he coughed and helped himself to another fistful. "Dry, though. Needs washing down." Joff took a swallow of wine and coughed again, more violently. "I want…" his words broke off in a fit of coughing.

Margaery looked at him with concern, "Your Grace?"

"It's, _kof,_ the pie, noth- _kof_ , pie." Joff took another drink, or tried to, but all the wine came spewing back out when he another spate of coughing doubled him over. His face was turning red. "I, _kof,_ I can't, _kof kof kof kof…_ " The chalice slipped from his hand and dark red wine went running across the dais.

"He's choking!" Queen Margaery gasped.

Her grandmother moved to her side. "Help the poor boy!" the Queen of Thorns screeched, in a voice ten times her size. " _Idiots!_ Will you all stand there gaping? _Help_ your king!"

Ser Garlan shoved his way to Joffrey and began to pound his back. Ser Osmund Kettleblack ripped open the king's collar. A fearful high thin sound emerge from the boy's throat, the sound of a man trying to suck a river through a reed, then it stopped, and that was more terrible still. "Turn him over!" Mace Tyrell bellowed at everyone and no one. "Turn him over and shake him by the heels!" a difference voice was calling. The High Septon began to pray loudly. Grand Maester Pycelle shouted for someone to help him back to his chambers, to fetch his potions. Joffrey began to claw at his throat, his nails tearing bloody gouges in the flesh. Beneath the skin, the muscles stood out hard as stone. Tommen was screaming and crying.

_He is going to die,_ Selene realized. She felt curiously calm, though pandemonium raged all about her. They were pounding him on the back again, but his face was only growing darker. Dogs were barking, children were wailing, men were shouting useless advice at each other. Half of the wedding guests were on their feet.

Ser Jaime sprinted to Joffrey, prying the king's mouth open to jam a spoon down his throat. As he did, Joffrey's eyes met Selene's. _He has Jaime's eyes._ Only she had never seen Jaime look so frightened.

Absurdly, a memory came to Selene from nowhere. She was suddenly very young, perhaps three years old, waiting outside the birthing room. Hearing her mother's screams frightened Selene so much she had cried. When it was finally done, her Uncle Jaime scooped her up and carried her to the great bed, where her new brother was lying in their mother's arms. Selene remembered sitting next to her golden mother, who was still kind to her back then.

"Selene, meet Joffrey, your little brother," Cersei said, her long golden curls falling into the newborn's face. Selene leaned forward. The infant was sleeping in their mother's arms, gold tufts on his head.

"Now, Selene," Jaime said seriously, "you are Joffrey's older sister. It's your job to look out for him. Do you understand?"

She didn't, not really, but she nodded all the same, feeling the seriousness of the occasion. With one arm holding Joffrey, Cersei hugged Selene tight with her free arm. "My little cubs," the queen said warmly.

_Strange,_ Selene thought in the present. _I didn't know I had that memory._ Joffrey was making a dry clacking noise, trying to speak. His eyes bulged white with terror and he lifted his hand…and pointed at Tyrion.

_Is he begging for his forgiveness….or does he think Tyrion can help?_

"Noooo," Cersei wailed. "Father help him, someone save him, my son, my _son…_ "

Selene found herself thinking of Robb, and how he died at a wedding, too. She looked to see how Sansa was taking this, but there was so much confusion in the hall that she could not find the Stark girl. Selene saw Tyrion eye the wedding chalice, and scoop it up. Selene walked toward him as he examined it.

"There's still some left…" Tyrion murmured as he poured it on the floor.

Margaery Tyrell was weeping in her grandmother's arms as the old lady said, "Be brave, be brave." Most of the musician's had fled. In the rear of the throne room scuffling had broken out around the doors, and the guests were trampling each other. Ser Addam's gold cloaks were trying to restore order. Guests were rushing headlong out into the night, some weeping, some stumbling and retching, others white with fear. It occurred to Selene belatedly that it might be wise for her and Tyrion to leave themselves.

When she heard Cersei scream, she knew it was over.

Tyrion grabbed her hand, "We have to leave. _Now._ "

Instead, Selene walked toward her mother.

Cersei sat in a puddle of wine, cradling her son's body. Her gown was torn and stained, her face white as chalk.

"The boy is gone, Cersei," Lord Tywin said. He put his gloved hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Unhand him now. Let him go." She did not hear. It took two Kingsguard to pry loose her fingers, so the body of King Joffrey Baratheon could slide limp and lifeless to the floor.

The High Seption knelt beside him. "Father Above, judge our good King Joffrey justly," he intoned, beginning the prayer for the dead.

It was too much for Selene. Absurdly, she giggled, staring at her shoes. She couldn't help herself. _Judge him justly? If so, he'll be spending eternity burning in all seven hells._

Every face in the hall turned to her, speechless. The more she thought about it, the funnier it became, and the wine she drank certainly did not help. She covered her mouth with her hand, tried to turn her laughter into an unconvincing cough, but there was no doubt that the realm saw her true. _Joffrey is dead. Perhaps there are gods after all. And murdered at a wedding!_ _Of all places!_ Selene felt such a surreal happiness. Her suppressed laughter was the only noise in the hall.

Until Margaery Tyrell began to sob, and her mother Lady Alerie said, "He choked, sweetling. He choked on the pie. It was naught to do with you. He choked. We all saw."

"He did not choke," Cersei's voice was as sharp as Valyrian steel. "My son was poisoned." She looked at the white knights standing uselessly around her, "Kingsguard, do your duty."

"My lady?" Loras Tyrell said uncertainly.

"My daughter condemns herself with her own mouth. Arrest her," she commanded him. "She did this, with my brother the dwarf. He bore the king's cup himself. They killed my son. _Your king. Take them! Take them both!"_


	40. The Laws of Gods and Men

"Selene, Tyrion," Ser Kevan Lannister said wearily in the joint solar they shared in the tower they were confined to, "if you are indeed innocent of Joffrey's death, you should have no difficulty proving it at your trials."

Selene turned from the window, "Who is to judge us?"

"Justice belongs to the throne. The king is dead, but your grandfather remains Hand. Since it is his own blood that stand accused and his own blood who was the victim, he has asked Lord Tyrell and Prince Oberyn to sit in judgement with him."

Selene felt slightly reassured. Oberyn would surely not sentence her to die. He wanted her claim. And if Lord Tyrell knew of his mother's plans to marry Selene to Willas, he would want her alive, too.

Tyrion looked less reassured. "Will we be allowed to demand a trial by combat?"

"I would not advise that."

"Why not?" Selene asked.

"It saved me in the Vale," Tyrion pointed out. "Answer me, Uncle. Will we be allowed a trial by combat, and a champion to prove our innocence?"

"Certainly, if such is your wish. However, you had best know that your sister means to name Ser Gregor Clegan as _her_ champion, in the event of such a trial. In any case, you are two separate persons. You would need _two_ champions."

"I shall need to sleep on this," Tyrion said, his eyes shifting back and forth in deep thought. "Does Cersei have witnesses against us?"

"More every day."

"Then we must have witnesses of our own," Selene said.

"Tell me who you would have, and Ser Addam will send the Watch to bring them to the trial."

"I would sooner find them myself."

"You two stand accused of regicide and kinslaying. Do you truly imagine you will be allowed to come and go as you please?" Ser Kevan waved at the table, "You have quill, ink, and parchment. Write the names of such witnesses as you require, and I shall do all in my power to produce them, you have my word as a Lannister. But you shall not leave this tower, except to go to trial."

Selene would not demean herself by begging. And it seemed Tyrion wouldn't, either. "Will you permit my squire to come and go? The boy Podrick Payne?"

"Certainly, if that is your wish. I shall send him to you."

"Do so. Sooner would be better than later, and now would be better than sooner." Tyrion waddled to the writing table. Selene watched her great-uncle open the door and said, "Uncle?"

"Yes?"

"We did not do this."

"I wish I could believe that, Selene."

When the door closed, Selene looked back at Tyrion. His hand was holding a quill over parchment, but it was frozen, as if he did not know what to write. Suddenly, he turned in his chair to look at her.

"You didn't, right?"

Selene scoffed, "How many times do I have to tell you? No, I did not kill Joffrey. I won't pretend I didn't wish him dead hundreds of times…"

"You _laughed,"_ Tyrion stressed. "In front of his weeping widow and mourning mother…you _laughed_. Would it have killed you to at least _pretend_ to sad? At least in public?"

Selene shrugged, "I couldn't help it."

Tyrion sighed, "Well, maybe you can say that in your grief you lost your wits…"

Selene laughed again, much to Tyrion's obvious frustration.

"We are going to die," Tyrion said flatly.

Selene stood a little straighter. "No, we're not. We're innocent. I won't die for Joffrey."

Tyrion put down the quill as his squire appeared, the boy Podrick.

"Find Bronn and bring him at once," Tyrion ordered. "Tell him there's gold in it, more gold than he's ever dreamt of, and see that you don't return without him."

"Yes, my lord. I mean, no. I won't. Return." He went.

Pod had not returned by sunset, nor by moonrise. Selene fell asleep at the window to wake up stiff and sore at dawn. Tyrion had done the same at the desk. A serving man brought food to break their fast. When he came an hour later for the bowls, Selene asked, "Have you seen my uncle's squire?" The serving man shook his head.

Sighing, Selene turned back to the window, while Tyrion dipped his quill in ink for the thousandth time. Finally, Selene heard him scrawl.

"Who are you possibly writing down?"

Tyrion didn't answer.

"Not Sansa?" Any doubts Selene had of Sansa's involvement vanished when she did. _Joffrey gave her ample reason to hate him._ And yet…where would Sansa have gotten the poison? Selene could not believe Sansa acted alone in this. If she did, why would she leave Selene and Tyrion behind to die? Sansa may not have loved Tyrion, but it was clear she did not hate him enough to let him die. And Selene was her brother's widow.

_I left her behind,_ Selene remembered, grimacing.

"Do you have any better ideas?" Tyrion asked. "Who can say that they _didn't_ see us poison Joffrey? Who can we can trust enough to praise our character?"

"Uncle Jaime," Selene started, "Prince Oberyn, Ser Garlan…."

"Jaime is our blood, they will call him biased. Prince Oberyn is a judge, he can't be a witness. Ser Garlan…he might serve, but his sister was drinking from the same cup. How do you know he doesn't think us guilty?"

Even so, Tyrion gave the parchment to his uncle the next day. Ser Kevan frowned at it. "Lady Sansa and Ser Garlan Tyrell are your only witnesses?"

"I will think of others in time," said Tyrion.

"Best think of them now. The judges mean to begin the trial three days hence."

"That's too soon," Selene argued. "You have us shut up here under guard, how are we supposed to find witnesses to our innocence?"

"Your mother's had no difficulty finding witnesses to your guilt." Ser Kevan rolled up the parchment. "I will send Ser Garlan to you. Ser Addam has men hunting for Sansa Stark. Varys has offered a hundred stags for word of her whereabouts, and a hundred dragons for the girl herself. If the girl can be found she will be found, and I shall bring her to you."

Tyrion nodded, "Have you seen my squire?"

"I sent him to you yesterday. Did he not come?"

"He came," Tyrion admitted, "and then he went."

"I shall send him to you again."

It was nightfall before Ser Garlan came to them. _No doubt Lady Olenna has been instructing him on what to say._ Selene sent Tyrion to his bedchamber when they heard the knock.

"Press your ear to the door if you must," Selene whispered to Tyrion, exasperated when he complained, "but he will be more candid with me and you know it."

When she was alone, she called for him to enter.

Ser Garlan walked in tentatively and bowed low when he saw her. "Princess."

"Ser Garlan," she gestured to a seat. "Will you take some wine?"

"If it pleases you."

After he sat, goblet in hand, he shifted uncomfortably.

Selene decided to put him out of his misery. "I called you here to ask you to be a witness at our trial."

He nodded solemnly, eyes unfocused.

"Do you believe us innocent?"

"My grandmother does."

"That's not what I asked."

Ser Garlan looked at her apologetically, "You did laugh."

Selene leaned forward, "I will be honest with you, ser. I loved my brother not. He felt the same for me. You were there at the wedding breakfast, and at the feast. You saw the way he spoke to me. The horrible things he said about me. Do you remember what he named his sword?"

Ser Garlan looked away.

" _Widow's Wail._ He said he'd name it after _me._ He knew about everything I had suffered. Watching my husband murdered before my own eyes, my child being murdered inside of me…and he _mocked_ me in my grief. Tell me true, ser… Would you rather he have married your sister?"

Garlan raised his eyes to meet hers, opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again. That was all Selene needed.

"No, I did not love him," Selene continued, "but I am no kinslayer. I did not kill him."

Garlan gave her a searching look. After a long pause, he finally said, "I believe you."

Selene leaned back with a sigh of relief she didn't know she'd been holding. _One. One witness. Well, it's better than none._ "Thank you, ser."

He nodded.

Something was bothering Selene.

"Lady Olenna believes me innocent?"

"Yes, princess. My lord father is sure of your guilt, but my grandmother is sure of your innocence, and has done her utmost to convince me and my siblings."

"And how goes her attempt?"

Ser Garlan straightened, "What did you have to gain from Joffrey's death? Tommen will be crowned, not you. And if you are as intelligent as I think you are, you would have been elsewhere or made yourself look innocent."

"Any other reason why Olenna wants me found innocent?" Selene prompted, seeing if Ser Garlan was as honest as she thought he was.

Garlan looked away, "You ask a question you know the answer to.

"I ask a question I want you to answer."

"You are to wed my brother Willas, and be the Lady of Highgarden, if my grandmother is to get her way, which she usually does."

"What about what you want?" Selene asked curiously. "Do you want me to marry your brother?"

"What I want doesn't matter. I am the second son. My duty is to my house, not my…" Ser Garlan rose, "Is there anything else you need?"

Selene rose too, not knowing how to thank him. "Thank you, Ser Garlan," she said sincerely. "You're a good man."

"No need to thank me, my lady," Ser Garlan smiled. "Anything for…for my future sister."

It wasn't until the next morning that Podrick Payne returned. He stepped inside the room hesitantly, fear written all over his face. Bronn came in behind him. The sellsword knight wore a jerkin studded with silver and a heavy riding cloak, with a pair of fine leather gloves thrust through his swordbelt.

"It took you long enough."

"The boy begged, or I wouldn't have come at all. I am expected at Castle Stokeworth for supper."

"Stokeworth?" Selene asked. "And pray what is there for you in Stokeworth?"

"A bride," Bronn smiled like a wolf contemplating a lost lamb. "I'm to wed Lollys the day after next."

"Lollys," Tyrion repeated incredulously. Selene bit her lip. _Perfect, bloody perfect._ Lady Tanda's lackwit daughter gets a knightly husband and a father of sorts for the bastard in her belly, and Ser Bronn of the Blackwater climbs another rung. It had Mother's stinking fingers all over it.

"My bitch sister has sold you a lame horse," Tyrion jested darkly. "The girl's dim-witted."

"If I wanted wits, I'd marry you."

Selene nearly laughed at that. "Lollys is big with another man's child."

Bronn turned to her and gave her a smile, "And when she pops him out, I'll get her big with mine."

"She's not even the heir to Stokeworth," Tyrion pointed out. "She has an elder sister. Falyse. A _married_ sister."

"Married ten years, and still barren," said Bronn. "Her lord husband shuns her bed. It's said he prefers virgins."

"He could prefer goats and it wouldn't matter," Selene said. "The lands will still pass to his wife when Lady Tanda dies."

"Unless Falyse should die before her mother."

Selene wondered if her mother had any notion of the sort of serpent she'd given to Lady Tanda to suckle. _And if she did, would she care?_

"Why are you here, then?" Tyrion asked.

Bronn shrugged, "You once told me that if anyone ever asked me to sell you out, you'd double their price."

"Is it two wives you want, or two castles?" Selene asked.

"One of each would serve, princess. But if you want me to kill Gregor Clegane for you, it had best be a damned _big_ castle."

The Seven Kingdoms were full of highborn maidens, but even the oldest, poorest, and ugliest spinster in the realm would balk at wedding lowborn scum like Bronn. _Unless she was soft of body and soft of head, with a fatherless child in her belly from having been raped half a hundred times._ Bronn _was_ a knight now, which made him a suitable match for a younger daughter of a minor house.

"I find myself woefully short of both castles and highborn maidens at the moment," Tyrion admitted.

"Do you?" Bronn asked, his eyes flitting toward Selene.

She laughed, "Guess again, sellsword."

"I figured you would say that."

Tyrion pretended Bronn hadn't said anything. "I can offer you gold and gratitude, as before."

"I have gold. What can I buy with gratitude?"

"You might be surprised. A Lannister pays his debts."

"Your sister is a Lannister, too."

"My lady wife is heir to Winterfell. Should I emerge from this with my head still on my shoulders, I may one day rule the north in her name. I could carve you out a big piece of it."

"If and when and might be," said Bronn. "And it's bloody cold up there. Lollys is soft, warm, and close. I could be poking her two nights hence."

"Not a prospect I would relish."

"Is that so?" Bronn grinned. "Admit it, Imp. Given a choice between fucking Lollys and fighting the Mountain, you'd have your breeches down and cock up before a man could blink."

"I'd heard that Ser Gregor was wounded on the Red Fork, and again at Duskendale," Selene tried. "The wounds are bound to slow him."

Bronn looked annoyed, "He was never fast. Only freakishly big and strong. I'll grant you, he's quicker than you'd expect from a man that size. He has a monstrous long reach, and doesn't seem to feel blows the way a normal man would."

"Does he frighten you so much?" asked Selene, hoping to provoke him.

"If he didn't frighten me, I'd be a bloody fool." Bronn gave a shrug, "Might be I could take him. Dance around him until he was so tired of hacking that he couldn't lift his sword. Get him off his feet somehow. When they're flat on their backs, it doesn't matter how tall they are. Even so, it's chancy. One misstep and I'm dead. Why should I risk it?" He turned to Tyrion, "I like you well enough, ugly little whoreson that you are," He glanced at Selene, "And it would be a shame to see such a pretty head removed from a lovely body, but if I fight your battle, I lose either way. Either the Mountain spills my guts, or I kill him and lose Stokeworth. I sell my sword, I don't give it away. I'm not your bloody brother."

"No," said Tyrion sadly. "You're not," He waved a hand, "Begone, then. Run to Stokeworth and Lady Lollys. May you find more joy in your marriage bed than I ever found in mine."

Bronn hesitated at the door, "What will you do, Imp?"

"Kill Gregor myself. Won't _that_ make for a jolly song?"

"I hope I hear them sing it." Bronn grinned one last time, and walked out of the door, and out of their lives.

Pod, who had blended into the background, shuffled his feet, "I'm sorry."

"Why? Is it your fault that Bronn's an insolent black-hearted rogue? That's what I liked about him." Tyrion poured himself a cup of wine and took it to the window seat. "So much for trial by combat."

Selene stepped forward, "I can fight."

"No," Tyrion's eyes stayed on the horizon."You're still recovering from your injury."

Selene growled, knowing he was right, "Probably the most important time for me to wield a sword, and I'm helpless. I've been practicing with Ser Garlan."

"I know, and you're terrible. A shadow of your former self. At least for now." Tyrion turned to face her, "I won't let you be your own champion. We'll find someone for you."

Ser Kevan paid them another call later that day, and again the day after. Sansa had not been found. Nor the fool Ser Dontos, who'd vanished the same night. Did Selene and Tyrion have any more witnesses they wished to summon? They did not. _How do we bloody well prove we didn't poison the wine, when a thousand people saw Tyrion fill Joff's cup, and me laugh over his corpse?_

She did not sleep at all that night.

Instead, she lay in the dark, staring up at the canopy and counting her ghosts. She saw Robb smiling as he kissed her, her father beaming at her from his horse. She saw Joffrey clawing his throat, the blood running down his neck as his face turned black. She saw her mother's eyes, Ser Barristan's dignified smile, Eleni padding up to her, eyes bright and muzzle wet with a fresh kill's blood.

And then it was dawn, and time for their trial to begin.

It was not Ser Kevan who came for them that morning, but Ser Addam Marbrand with a dozen gold cloaks. Selene and Tyrion had broken their fast on boiled eggs, burned bacon, and dressed in their finest. "Ser Addam," she said, "I thought my grandfather would send the Kingsguard to escort us to trial. We are still members of the royal family, are we not?"

"You are, princess, but I fear most of the Kingsguard stand witness against you. Lord Tywin felt it would not be proper for them to serve as your guards."

"Gods forbid we do anything _improper."_ Tyrion said with poisoned politeness. "Please, lead on."

They were to be tried in the throne room, where Joffrey had died. As Ser Addam marched them through the towering bronze doors and down the long carpet, she felt the eyes upon her. Hundreds had crowded in to see them judged. At least she hoped that was why they had came. _For all I know, they are witnesses against us._ She spied Queen Margaery up in the gallery, pale and beautiful in her mourning. _Twice wed and twice widowed, and only sixteen._ Her mother stood tall to one side of her, her grandmother small on the other, with her ladies in waiting and her father's household knights packing the rest of the gallery.

The dais stood beneath the empty Iron Throne, though all but one table had been removed. Behind it sat stout Lord Mace Tyrell in a gold mantle over green, and slender Prince Oberyn Martell in flowing robes of striped orange, yellow, and scarlet. Lord Tywin sat between them.

Tyrion and Selene were led to the front of the stairs. King Tommen stood before the throne. Tywin gave the boy a shrewd look.

"I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of my Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, do hereby recuse myself from this trial." His words were flawless, but his green eyes were puffy and red, as if he spent the night crying.

Selene's heart ached, and she had to bite her lip to keep it from wobbling. _He's only repeating what Tywin told him to say,_ she reminded herself. _He is only eight._ She nodded encouragingly to him, to somehow reassure him that she would be alright.

Tommen took a shaky breath, "Tywin of House Lannister, Hand of the King, Protector of the Realm, will sit as judge in my stead. With him Prince Oberyn of the House Martell and Lord Mace of the House Tyrell. And-" Tommen hesitated.

Selene glanced at Tyrion, who gave Tommen a small knowing smile.

"And if found guilty, may the gods punish the accused." Tommen walked away, two Kingsguard following him like white shadows.

Selene was led to the side, while Tyrion stood front and center in a wooden stand. His judgement was to begin first. Selene stood beside her Uncle Jaime as she watched the trial. His face was as white as his cloak.

The High Septon began with a prayer, asking the Father Above to guide them to justice. When he was done the grandfather below leaned forward to say, "Tyrion of the House Lannister, you stand accused by the Queen Regent of regicide. Did you kill King Joffrey?"

"No."

"Well, that's a relief," said Oberyn Martell dryly.

"Did Sansa Stark do it, then?" Lord Tyrell demanded.

_I would have, had I been her,_ Selene thought. She watched as Tyrion said, "The gods killed Joffrey. He choked on his pigeon pie."

Lord Tyrell reddened, "You would blame the bakers?"

"Them, or the pigeons. Just leave me out of it." Selene heard nervous laughter, and knew Tyrion had made a mistake. _Mind your tongue, you fool, before it digs your grave._ Selene couldn't imagine what she would do if Tyrion was taken from her, too.

"There are witnesses against you," Lord Tywin said. "We shall hear them first. Then you may present your own witnesses. You are to speak only with our leave."

Tyrion nodded.

Ser Addam had told it true; the first man ushered in was Ser Balon Swann of the Kingsguard. "Lord Hand," he began, after the High Septon sworn him to speak only the truth, "I had the honor to fight beside you son on the bridge of ships. He is a brave man for his size, and I will not believe he did this thing."

A murmur went through the hall, and Selene glanced at where her mother sat, wondering what mad game she was playing. _Why offer a witness that believes Tyrion innocent?_ She soon learned. Ser Balon spoke reluctantly of how he had pulled Tyrion away from Joffrey on the day of the riot of King's Landing. "He did strike His Grace, that's so. It was a fit of wroth, no more. A summer storm. The mob near killed us all."

"In the days of the Targaryens, a man who struck one of the blood royal would lose the hand he struck him with," observed the Red Viper of Dorne. "Did the dwarf regrow his little hand, or did you White Swords forget your duty?"

"He was of the blood royal himself," Ser Balon answered, "and the King's Hand beside."

"No," Lord Tywin said. "He was _acting_ Hand, in my stead."

Ser Meryn Trant was pleased to expand on Ser Balon's account, when he took his place as witness. "He knocked the king to the ground and began kicking him. He shouted that it was unjust that His Grace had escaped the mob unharmed."

Selene began to grasp her mother's plan. _She began with a man known to be honest, and milked him for all he was worth. Every witness that follows will tell a worse tale, until Tyrion seems as bad as Maegor the Cruel and Aerys the Mad together._

Ser Meryn went to relate how Tyrion had stopped Joffrey's chastisement of Sansa Stark. "The dwarf asked His Grace if he knew what had happened to Aerys Targaryen. When Ser Boros spoke up in defense of the king, the Imp threatened to have him killed."

Tyrion could no longer hold his tongue, "Tell the judges what Joffrey was _doing,_ why don't you?"

The big man glared at him, "You told your savages to kill me if I opened my mouth, that's what I'll tell them."

"Tyrion," Tywin said, "you are to speak only when we call upon you. Take this for a warning.

Tyrion subsided, seething.

The Kettleblacks came next, all three of them in turn. Osney and Osfryd told the tale of a supper with Cersei before the Battle of the Blackwater, and of threats that he made.

"He told Her Grace that he meant to do her harm," said Ser Osfryd. "To hurt her," his brother Osney elaborated. "He said he would wait for a day when she was happy, and make her joy turned to ashes in her mouth."

Selene frowned, knowing this had to be a lie, but judging by Tyrion's face, that part seemed to be true. She gave him an exasperated look.

Ser Osmund Kettleblack, a vision of chivalry in immaculate scale armor and white wool, swore that King Joffrey had long known that his Uncle Tyrion meant to murder him. "It was the day they gave me the white cloak, my lords," he told the judges. "That brave boy said to me, 'Good Ser Osmund, guard me well, for my uncle loves me not. He means to be king in my place.'

It seemed that was more than Tyrion could stomach, " _Liar!_ " He slammed his hands down on the wooden stand.

Lord Tywin frowned, "Must we have you chained and bound like a common brigand?"

_Keep your calm or you're doomed,_ Selene thought desperately.

Cersei spoke from her ornate chair, "Father, I beg you to put him in fetters, for your own protection. You see how he is."

"I see he's a dwarf," said Prince Oberyn. "The day I fear a dwarf's wrath is the day I drown myself in a cask of red."

"We need no fetters," Lord Tywin said. "We've heard enough against Tyrion today. Princess Selene, come forward.

Selene was led to the center, while Tyrion was led aside. They exchanged glances at they passed. Tyrion's message to her was plain, _For the love of the gods, Selene, mind your tongue and play your part._

She took her place in the wooden stand.

"Selene of the House Baratheon, you stand accused by the Queen Regent of regicide. Did you kill King Joffrey?"

"No."

"Do you have any knowledge of who did?"

"No."

Tywin leaned forward, "Moments after the king's death, you were seen laughing by every attendant at the feast, all three judges included. Do you deny it?"

Selene spoke as she practiced, "In my grief, I lost my senses. I-"

"Do you deny it?" Tywin repeated.

"No."

Murmurs flew about the hall.

"There are witnesses against you. We shall hear them first. Then you may present your own. You are to speak only with our leave."

Selene nodded.

The first one up was Ser Boros Blount, the fattest Kingsgaurd who had always been soured by Selene constantly besting him in the training yard. "Lords, ladies, sers, I was Kingsguard to King Robert Baratheon, and have watched the princes and princesses grow up. I have been privy to several interactions between King Joffrey and Princess Selene that would justify her poisoning him."

"At the age of eight, the princess pushed His Grace down a flight of stairs. At the age of ten, she set her lion on him. At the age of twelve, she got him lost in the kingswood. At the age of fourteen, she disarmed him with her sword and cut his face open in rage. And those are just the major incidents. Throughout the years there have been numerous scrapes and bruises, too many to count."

"Do I have leave to defend each accusation?" Selene asked her grandfather, her voice tight.

Tywin glanced at Prince Oberyn and Lord Mace, "You do."

"When I was eight, Joffrey _fell_ down some stairs." _Lie. I had found bruises on Myrcella's arms._ "When I was ten, my lion was a cub, and all she did was growl at him." _Another lie. Eleni had given him a little bite, but still, it was more terrifying than painful._ "When I was twelve, Joffrey tried to race me in the Kingswood and got himself lost." _At least that one is true._ "And when I was fourteen, I _accidently_ cut Joffrey while we were sparring. My father had cleared me of guilt from every one of these cases, so why are they being brought up now? Do you question my father's judgement, Ser Boros?"

The knight reddened, "I am only reminding the judges of your history with your brother, princess."

Tywin straightened, "Next witness."

"Lord Varys," the herald called, "master of whispers."

Powdered, primped, and smelling of rosewater, the Spider rubbed his hands one over the other while he spoke. _Washing my life away,_ Selene thought, as she listened to the eunuch's mournful account of how Selene had schemed with Ned Stark to usurp Joffrey's ascension. _Half-truths are worth more than outright lies._ And unlike the others, Varys had documents; parchments painstakingly filled with notes, details, dates, whole conversations. Varys confirmed Selene traveling with Ned Stark to a brothel to find evidence of Joffrey's parentage, and had many scribbles confirming her speaking of how much she hated Joffrey, even when she was at Riverrun and Storm's End. When Prince Oberyn asked him how he could possibly know this, not being present at any of these events, the eunuch only giggled and said, "My little birds told me. Knowing is their purpose, and mine."

_How do I question a little bird?_ thought Selene. _Damn Varys. And damn me for whatever trust I used to put in him._

"The hour grows late," Tywin conceded. "We shall resume on the morrow."

That night, Tyrion sat brooding by the window.

"What are you thinking about, Uncle?" Selene asked as she sat beside him on the cushion. The breeze from outside stirred some of his pale blond locks, but the rest of his face was stone.

"My wife."

"I don't think Sansa did it," Selene said. "Perhaps someone used her, but I can't imagine her working-"

"Not the wolf wife. The whore wife."

Selene frowned, "What?"

"I was married once before."

Selene's jaw dropped, "What? How did I not know?"

"Because I did not tell you. It's not something I like to remember."

"How could you not tell me something like that, Tyrion?"

"Selene, until very recently you were a child. There were certain things I wanted to shield you from. Now that you see the world for what it really is, I can be honest with you."

"You sound like Jaime."

The corners of Tyrion's lips twitched for a half-second.

"You knew," Selene realized. "About Jaime and the Mad King and everything."

Tyrion didn't answer, his gaze fixed out into the night.

"Did she die?"

"Not exactly." Tyrion told her about Tysha, the crofter's daughter who turned out to be a whore, and Jaime's way of making Tyrion a man. When Tyrion described how Tywin had made him watch his beloved young wife be taken by dozens of guards, Selene felt her eyes well up with tears.

"I can't believe Jaime-"

"He didn't mean for it to go that far," Tyrion said. He could forgive Jaime anything, "It's my father who did the unforgivable."

"Why are you thinking of her now?"

"Her love for me had been pretense, and yet I believed, and found joy in that belief. I'd rather have sweet lies than bitter truths." He drank his wine.

Selene remembered something from a thousand years ago, "That's not what you told Jon Snow, back on the way to the Wall. You told him most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it. You said you weren't one of those men."

Tyrion let out a sharp breath, "Perhaps the looming threat of death has finally turned me into most men."

Maesters Ballabar and Frenken opened the second day of Tyrion's trial. They opened King's Joffrey's noble corpse as well, they swore, and found neither morsel of pigeon pie nor any other food lodged in his royal throat. "It was poison that killed him, my lords," said Ballabar, as Frenken nodded gravely.

Then they brought forth Grand Maester Pycelle, leaning heavily on a twisted cane and shaking as he walked. He named an unbearably long list of poisons that have gone missing from his stores, and ended with, "The Imp stole them from my chambers when he had me falsely imprisoned."

" _Pycelle,_ " Tyrion called out, risking Tywin's wrath. "Could any of those poisons choke a man's breath?"

"No. For that, you must turn to a rarer poison. When I was a boy at the Citadel, my teacher simply named it _the strangler._ "

"But this rare poison was not found, was it?"

"No, my lord," Pycelle blinked at him. "You used it all to kill the noblest child the gods ever put on this good earth."

Selene's anger overwhelmed her sense. "Joffrey was cruel and stupid, but Tyrion did not kill him. Neither did I," she said from the side. She could feel Jaime's hard stare beside her, but carried on anyway. "Have my head off it you like, I had no part in my brother's death."

" _Silence!_ " Lord Tywin said. "I have told Tyrion to be quiet, and now you speak out of turn. The next time either of you speak without being asked, you will be gagged and chained."

After Pycelle came the procession, endless and wearisome. Lords and ladies and noble knights, highborn and humble alike all came to proclaim Tyrion's guilt, one or the other testifying that they saw him spill the contents of the cup while the king was dying. Lady Merryweather's account was especially damning. She claimed she saw him poison the cup.

"You have no witnesses to speak to your defense, Tyrion?" Tywin asked.

"Not unless you have found my lady wife?"

Tywin's stare was cold, "We have not."

"Then, no."

"Princess Selene," Tywin called, and Selene and Tyrion switched places for judgement. "Any witnesses to your innocence?"

"Ser Garlan of House Tyrell," the herald cried, "Lord of Brightwater Keep."

"Lord Hand, Prince Oberyn, Father," he began, after the High Septon sworn him to speak only the truth, "I have had the honor of sparring with the Princess Selene for several weeks now. She is a gracious lady, and I will not believe she did this."

"Explain the moments leading up to King Joffrey's murder."

"I had the pleasure of sitting beside the Princess at the wedding feast. I was there with her throughout the night, and she had no time to place poison in his chalice. Princess Selene tried to leave the wedding feast, on account of her feeling faint, but the king refused her."

Lord Mace Tyrell looked like he wished to speak, but hesitated on questioning his own son.

Lord Tywin said, "Perhaps she was trying to leave before the poison could take effect, to give herself an alibi."

_He wants me dead,_ Selene thought. _Tywin was planning to marry me off, but now he thinks I'm more trouble than I'm worth._

Ser Garlan paused to think, "I think if the princess wanted the king dead, she would have made it so that she looked completely innocent. She seems too guilty."

"You think she's innocent because she seems too guilty?" Tywin repeated slowly.

Ser Garlan nodded, "I do, my lord. If you were to kill a king, wouldn't you make sure you were as far away as possible?"

"I have never entertained the notion, ser," Tywin said in a still voice. "If that's all, Ser Garlan?"

_That could have gone better,_ Selene thought.

Later that night, Ser Kevan was cold and distant. _He thinks we did it._ "Do you have any witnesses for me?" Ser Kevan asked.

"Not as such, no. Unless you've found my wife?"

Ser Kevan shook his head, "It would seem the trial is going very badly for you."

"Oh, do you think so? I hadn't noticed." Tyrion rubbed his face.

"I'm curious, uncle," Selene said. "You were always a fair man. What convinced you?"

"Why steal Pycelle's poisions, if not to use them?" Ser Kevan said bluntly. "And Lady Merryweather saw-"

"- _nothing!"_ Tyrion interrupted angrily. "There was nothing to see, but how do I prove that? How do I prove _anything,_ penned up here?"

"Perhaps the time has come for you to confess."

Even through the thick stone walls of the Red Keep, Selene could hear the steady wash of rain. "Say that again, Uncle? I could have sworn you urged Tyrion to confess."

"If he was to admit his guilt before the throne room and repent of his crime, my brother would withhold the sword. You would be permitted to take the black."

Tyrion laughed in his face, "Those were the same terms Cersei offered Eddard Stark. We all know how _that_ ended."

"Your father had no part in that."

"Castle Black teems with murderers, thieves, and rapists," Tyrion said, "but I don't recall meeting many regicides while I was there. You expect me to believe that if I admit to being a kinslayer and kingslayer, my father will simply nod, forgive me, and pack me off to the Wall with some warm woolen smallclothes." Tyrion hooted rudely.

"Naught was said of forgiveness," Ser Kevan said sternly. "A confession could put this matter to rest. It is for that reason your father sends me with this offer." He glanced at Selene, "You are another matter entirely."

"How so?"

"You can't take the black. My brother offers you your life, in exile."

"Exile?" Selene repeated dumbly. _Leave these seven kingdoms and go…where? Leave everything I've ever known?_

Tyrion scoffed at the offers. "Thank him kindly for us, Uncle," said Tyrion, "but tell him we are not presently in a confessing mood."

"Were I you, Tyrion, I'd change my mood. Your sister wants your head, and Lord Tyrell at least is inclined to give it to her."

"So one of the judges has already condemned me, without hearing a word in my defense? Will I still be allowed to speak and present witnesses?"

"You _have_ no witnesses," Ser Kevan reminded him. "Tyrion, if you are guilty of this enormity, the Wall is a kinder fate than you deserve. And if you are blameless…the north is safer for you than King's Landing. The mob is convinced of your guilt. Were you to venture into the streets, they would tear you limb from limb."

"I can see how much that prospect upsets you."

"You are my brother's son."

"You might want to remind _him_ of that."

"Do you think he would allow you to take the black if you were not his own blood, and Joanna's? Tywin seems a hard man to you, I know, but he is no harder that he's had to be. Our own father was gentle and amiable, but so weak his bannermen mocked him in their cups. Some saw fit to defy him openly. Other lords borrowed our gold and never troubled to repay it. At court they japed of toothless lions. Even his mistress stole from him. A woman scarcely one step above a whore, and she helped herself to my mother's jewels! It fell to Tywin to restore House Lannister to its proper place. Just as it fell to him to rule this realm, when he was no more than twenty. He bore that heavy burden for _twenty years,_ and all it earned him was a mad king's envy. Instead of the honor he deserved, he was made to suffer slights beyond count, yet he gave the Seven Kingdoms peace, plenty, and justice. He is a just man. You would be wise to trust him."

Selene blinked in astonishment. Ser Kevan had always been solid and pragmatic; she had never heard him speak with such fervor. "You love him."

"He is my brother."

"I…I will think on what you've said," Tyrion managed.

"Think carefully, then. And quickly."

Selene and Tyrion hardly spoke that night, both too deep in their own thoughts. _They will call me kinslayer till the end of my days. For a thousand years or more, if I am remembered it won't be as Queen Selene, rightful heir to her father's throne, it will be as the envious sister who poisoned her golden brother at his wedding feast._ The thought made her so bloody angry that she flung a bowl and spoon across the room.

"Have we heard it all?" Lord Tywin asked his daughter the next day at the trial, after several more witnesses gave their accounts.

"Almost," said Cersei, "I beg your leave to bring one final witness before you on the morrow."

"As you wish," Lord Tywin said.

That night, Selene heard voices outside their door, but it was not her great-uncle who entered.

Selene rose quickly to her feet when Prince Oberyn sauntered in. _Finally._ "Where have you been?"

Tyrion rose too, but gave the prince a mocking bow, "Are judges permitted to visit the accused?"

"Princes are permitted to go where they will. Or so I told your guards." The Red Viper walked across the room to give Selene a soft kiss on the back of the hand, "Forgive me, my lady, for not coming sooner."

Tyrion gave Oberyn a strange look. "My father will be displeased with you."

"The happiness of Tywin Lannister has never been high on my list of concerns. Is it Dornish wine you're drinking?"

"From the Arbor."

Oberyn made a face, "Red water. Did you poison him?"

"No. Did you?"

The prince smiled, "Do all dwarfs have tongues like yours? Someone is going to cut it out one of these days."

"You are not the first to tell him that," Selene said.

Oberyn looked back to Tyrion, "I have turned up that golden-haired whore I was hoping for."

"So you found Chataya's?"

"At Chataya's I bedded the black-skinned girl. Alayaya, I believe she is called. Exquisite, despite the stripes on her back. But the whore I was referring to is your sister."

"Has she seduced you yet?" Tyrion asked, unsurprised.

Oberyn laughed aloud, "No, but she will if I meet her price. The queen has even hinted at marriage. Her Grace needs another husband, and who better than a prince of Dorne? Ellaria believes I should accept. Just the thought of Cersei in our bed makes her wet, the randy wench."

Selene made a choking sound of disgust, which Oberyn mistook, "Never fear, princess, I only have eyes for you. All your mother requires of me is one head, somewhat overlarge and scarred."

"And?" Tyrion asked, waiting.

By way of answer Prince Oberyn swirled his wine, and said, "When the Young Dragon conquered Dorne so long ago, he left the Lord of Highgarden to rule us after the Submission of Sunspear. This Tyrell moved with his tail from keep to keep, chasing rebels and making certain that our knees stayed bent. He would arrive in force, take a castle for his own, stay a moon's turn, and ride on to the next castle. It was his custom to turn the lords out of their own chambers and take their beds for himself. One night he found himself beneath a heavy velvet canopy. A sash hung down near the pillows, should he wish to summon a wench. He had a taste for Dornish women, and who could blame him? So he pulled the sash, and a hundred red scorpions fell on his head. His death lit a fire that soon swept across Dorne, undoing the Young Dragon's victories in a fortnight. The kneeling men stood up, and we were free again."

"I know the tale," said Tyrion. "What of it?"

"Just this. If I should ever find a sash beside my own bed and pull on it, I would sooner have the scorpions fall upon me than the queen in all her naked beauty."

Tyrion grinned, "We have much in common, then."

"To be sure, I have much to thank your sister for. If not for her accusation at the feast, it might well be you judging me than me judging you." The prince's eyes were dark with amusement, "Who knows more about poison than the Red Viper of Dorne, after all? Who has better reason to want to keep the Tyrells away from the throne? And by _Dornish_ law, the Iron Throne should belong to his sister Selene, who in fact is being courted by myself, which would make me king."

"Dornish law does not apply." Selene had been so ensnared by her troubles that she never stopped to consider who actually killed Joffrey.

Tyrion was stuck on a different aspect, "You're _courting_ her? You're far too old!"

Selene shook her head, ignoring Tyrion's familial concern, "My grandfather will crown Tommen, count on that."

"He may indeed crown Tommen, here in King's Landing. Which is not to say that my brother may not crown you, once we travel to Sunspear. Will your grandfather make war on you on behalf on your brother? Will your mother?" He gave a shrug, "Perhaps I should help Queen Cersei after all, on the condition that she support her daughter over her son. Do you think she would?"

_Never,_ Selene was going to say, but the word caught in her throat. Her mother always resented being excluded from power on account of her sex. _If Dornish law applied in the west, she would be heir to Casterly Rock in her own right._ By championing Selene's cause she would be championing her own, but Selene's mind was on something else.

"I won't," she said simply. "I won't go to war against Tommen."

"It makes no matter," Tyrion said. "My father won't give anyone the choice."

"Your father," said Prince Oberyn, "may not live forever."

The way he said it made the hairs on the back of Selene's neck bristle. Suddenly, she was mindful of Elia again, and what the prince shared with her as they rode to King's Landing. _He wants the head that spoke the words, not just the hand that swung the sword._ _And what a coincidence. So do I._

"It is not wise to speak such treasons in the Red Keep, my prince," Tyrion said quietly. "The little birds are listening."

"Let them. Is it treason to say a man is mortal? _Valar morgulis_ was how they said it in Valyria of old. _All men must die._ And the Doom came and proved it true." The Dornishman went to the window to gaze out into the night, "It is being said you have no witnesses for us, Imp."

"I was hoping one look at this sweet face of mine would be enough to persuade you of my innocence."

"You are mistaken, my lord. The Fat Flower of Highgarden is convinced of your guilt, and determined to see you die. His precious Margaery was drinking from that chalice too, as he reminded us half a hundred times." Oberyn glanced at Selene, "And because of his son's testimony and his obvious interest in you for his eldest, the Fat Flower has suddenly been convinced of your innocence, yet Tywin is not."

"And you?" said Tyrion.

"Men are seldom as they appear. You both look so very guilty that I am convinced of your innocence. Still, you will likely be condemned. Justice is in short supply this side of the mountains. There has been none for Elia, Aegon, or Rhaenys. Why should there be any for you? Perhaps Joffrey's real killer was eaten by a bear. That seems to happen quite often in King's Landing. Oh, wait, the bear was at Harrenhal, now I remember."

"Is that the game we are playing?" Tyrion rubbed at his scar. "There _was_ a bear at Harrenhal, and it did kill Ser Amory Lorch."

Selene frowned, knowing she must be hearing the end of a previous conversation.

"How sad for him," said the Red Viper. "And for you. Do all dwarfs lie so bad, I wonder?"

"I am not lying. Ser Amory dragged Princess Rhaenys out from under her father's bed and stabbed her to death. He had some men-at-arms with him, but I do not know their names. It was Ser Gregor Clegane who smashed Prince Aegon's head against a wall and raped your sister Elia with his brains and blood still on his hands."

Selene's eyes widened.

"What is this now? Truth, from a Lannister?" Oberyn smiled coldly, "Your father gave the command, yes?"

"No," Tyrion said quickly.

It must be a lie, Selene knew, but she still wondered why Tyrion defended Tywin with no hesitation after everything Tywin has put him through.

The Dornishman raised one thin black eyebrow, "Such a dutiful son. And such a feeble lie. It was Tywin who presented Elia's children to King Robert all wrapped up in Lannister cloaks."

"Perhaps you ought to have this discussion with my father. He was there. I was at the Rock, and still so young that I thought the thing between my legs was only good for pissing."

"Yes, but you are here now, and in some difficulty, I would say."

There was a knock at the door. Noticing Selene's face, Oberyn said, "It's alright, princess. He's here at my invitation."

Ser Garlan Tyrell entered the room.

_Tyrell and Martell._ Selene prepared herself for the worse, and was shocked when Oberyn and Garlan firmly shook hands like old friends.

"How is your brother, ser?" Oberyn asked.

"Well, thank you, my prince," Ser Garlan said. "And yours?"

"Gouty, as ever."

Selene looked between them, "How are you two not at each other's throats?"

"It's my father and grandmother who hate him, not me," Ser Garlan explained. "Willas has never borne Prince Oberyn any ill will, so why should I? On the contrary, Willas thinks very highly of him."

Prince Oberyn smiled, "As I do of him. We share many intellectual interests."

Tyrion cut through to the heart of it, "Why are you both here?"

"Your innocence may be plain as the scar on your face, but it will not save you. No more than your father will." The Dornish prince smiled, "But we might."

"You?" Tyrion studied him, "You are one judge in three. And you are one witness in hundreds. How could you save us?"

"Not as your judge or your witness." Ser Garlan explained.

Prince Oberyn's dark eyes flashed, "As your champions."


	41. The Mountain and the Viper

When dawn broke, Selene found she could not face the thought of food. _By evenfall I may stand condemned._ Her belly was acid with bile. She watched as Tyrion scratched at his scar while he stabbed a grey sausage with the point of his knife, his face pale. _One last witness to endure, then…._ what? If found guilty, face exile, or demand a trial by combat and risk not only their own lives but the lives of a prince of Dorne and a son of Highgarden. Selene watched as Tyrion struggled with the same problems. _He could confess and go to the Wall, to the edge of the world. And I could confess and go…where?_ Selene did not know where she would go. The Summer Isles? Somewhere warm. Or perhaps, she would take a ship and become a pirate. She nearly smiled. _I would like to roam the seas and travel the world._ She could name her ship _The Storm_ and be its lady. Selene Baratheon, born a princess, lived a queen, and died a pirate.

It was not a life she'd ever dreamed of, but it was life. And all she had to do was trust her grandfather, stand up in front of the court and say, "Yes, I did it. I confess." That was the part that twisted her stomach. She almost wished she had done it, since it would seem she must suffer for it anyway.

"My lord?" said Podrick Payme. "They're here, my lord. Ser Addam. And the gold cloaks. They wait without."

"Pod, tell me true," Tyrion asked. "Do you think we did it?"

The boy hesitated. When he tried to speak, all he was able to produce was a weak sputter.

_We are doomed._

Tyrion sighed, "No need to answer. You've been a good squire to me. Better than I deserved. Whatever happens, I thank you for your leal service."

Ser Addam Marbrand waited at the door with six gold cloaks. He had nothing to say this morning, it seemed. _Another good man who thinks me a kinslayer._ Selene summoned all the dignity she could find and walked down the steps. She could feel them all watching as they crossed the yard.

The judges weren't there yet, so instead of walking off to the side, Selene stayed by Tyrion's side as he climbed the few steps to the stand. Uncle Jaime came from the council chambers behind the throne, his white cloak brushing the floor as he walked.

"Not going well, is it?" Tyrion jested as Jaime placed his arm on the stand, glancing around warily.

"You're both going to be found guilty," Jaime said in a low voice, eyes flicking back and forth between them.

"Oh, you think so?" Selene sighed, only half joking.

"And when you are," Jaime took a step closer, "you need to enter a formal plea for mercy. Tyrion, ask to be sent to the Wall. Selene, ask for exile."

"Uncle Kevan has already presented us with this deal, Jaime," Tyrion said. "We're not fonder of it now as we were then."

"Trust me, will you?" Jaime insisted. "Father's agreed to it. He'll spare your lives."

"What a life," Tyrion murmured. "The Night's Watch."

"It's life," Jaime argued.

"Ned Stark was promised the same thing and we all know how that turned out," Tyrion pointed out.

"Father is not Joffrey. He'll keep his word."

"How do you know?" Selene asked. "If he doesn't…."

Jaime turned as the judges arrived, taking their seats. The courtiers stood as the three of them sat. He turned back to them, "Do you trust me?"

Tyrion nodded.

Jaime's eyes found Selene's. They were so green, like sunlit summer leaves. For a moment, all the years of spite melted away. She felt like a child again.

Selene swallowed, not knowing where her next word came from. "Yes," she said in a small voice.

Jaime looked pleasantly surprised, "Keep your mouths shut. No more outbursts. This will all be over soon." With that, he offered Selene his arm.

Selene gave Tyrion a swift kiss on the cheek, and took her uncle's arm as he led her to the side.

No sooner had Tyrion taken to the stand, and Selene to Jaime's side, then another group of gold cloaks led in one of Sansa's ladies.

 _The dark haired one,_ Selene remembered. _She wanted to see the pigeons fly out of the pie._ But Tyrion face went from brooding to wide-eyed with shock and disbelief. As the girl walked by, avoiding his gaze, he stared at her with wet eyes. Selene had never seen that look on her uncle's face.

_Oh, Tyrion. What have you done?_

"State your name," Tywin said, thumbs rubbing the arms of his chair.

"Shae," the girl said in a foreign accent.

"Do you swear by all the gods that your testimony will be true and honest?"

"I swear it."

"Do you know this man?"

The girl looked back at Tyrion. She was very pretty, with large dark eyes and short black hair that curled at the tops of her shoulders.

She turned back to Tywin, "Yes. Tyrion of House Lannister."

"And how do you know him?"

"I was handmaiden to his wife, Lady Sansa."

"This man stands accused of murdering King Joffrey. What do you know of this?"

"They plotted it together," said the girl Selene's uncle clearly loved so much. "The Imp, Princess Selene, and Lady Sansa plotted it after the Young Wolf died. Sansa wanted revenge for her brother, Selene for her husband and child, and Tyrion meant to rule. He was going to kill his sister next, and then his own lord father, so he could be Hand for Prince Tommen. But after a year or so, before Tommen got too old, he would have killed him too, and crown his beloved niece Selene, to rule unopposed in her name."

"How could you know all this?" demanded Prince Oberyn. "Why would the Imp divulge such plans to his wife's maid?"

"I overheard some, m'lord," said Shae, "and m'lady let things slip too. But most I heard from his own lips. I wasn't only Lady Sansa's maid. I was his whore."

Selene looked at Tyrion in disbelief, but his eyes stayed glued to Shae.

"On the morning of his wedding, he dragged me down where they keep the dragon skulls and fucked me there with the monsters all around. And when I cried, he said I ought to be more grateful, that it wasn't every girl who got to be the king's whore. That was when he told me how he meant to be king. He said that poor boy Joffrey would never know his bride the way he was knowing me." She started sobbing then, "I never meant to be a whore, m'lords. I was to be married. A squire, he was, and a good brave boy, gentle born. But the Imp saw me at the Green Fork and put the boy I meant to marry in the front rank of the van, and after he was killed he sent his wildlings to bring me to his tent. Shagga, the big one, and Timmet with the burned eye. He said if I didn't pleasure him, he'd give me to them, so I did. Then he brought me to the city, so I'd be close when he wanted me. He made me do such shameful things…"

Prince Oberyn looked curious, "What sort of things?"

" _Unspeakable_ things," she cried as the tears rolled slowly down her pretty face, "With my mouth and…other parts, m'lord. All my parts. He used me every way there was, and…he used to make me tell him how big he was. _My giant,_ I had to call him. _M_ _y giant of Lannister._ "

Osney Kettleblack was the first to laugh. Boros and Meryn joined in, then Cersei, Ser Loras, and more lords and ladies than she could count. The sudden gale of mirth made the rafters ring and shook the Iron Throne. "It's true," Shae protested. "My giant of Lannister." The laughter swelled twice as loud. Their mouths were twisted in merriment, their bellies shook. Some laughed so hard snot flew from their nostrils. Selene hated them all.

There were hundreds in the throne room, every one of them laughing but her, Tyrion, Jaime, and Tywin. Even the Red Viper was chortling, and Mace Tyrell looked like to bust a gut, but Lord Tywin Lannister sat between them as if made of stone, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

Tyrion pushed forward. " _MY LORDS!_ " he shouted. He had to shout, if he had any hope of being heard.

Tywin raised a hand. Bit by bit, the throne room quieted.

"Get this lying whore out of my sight," said Tyrion, "and I will give you your confession."

Selene gave a small start. Jaime placed a hand on her back reassuringly.

Lord Tywin nodded. Shae looked half in terror as the gold cloaks formed up around her. Her eyes met Tyrion's. Was it shame Selene saw there, or fear? Selene knew Shae was lying about Tyrion's conspiring, as she knew Tyrion was innocent, but Selene could see how much Tyrion cared for the girl. _You will get your gold or jewels or whatever else my mother promised you for your testimony,_ Selene thought as she watched the girl leave, _but before long my mother will have you entertaining the gold cloaks in their barracks._

Tyrion stared up at his father. "Guilty," he said, "so guilty. Is that what you want to hear?"

Lord Tywin said nothing. Mace Tyrell nodded. Prince Oberyn looked mildly disappointed, "You admit you poisoned the king?"

"Nothing of the sort," said Tyrion. "Of Joffrey's death, I am innocent. I am guilty of a more monstrous crime." He took a step forward in his stand, "I was born. I lived. I am guilty of being a dwarf, I confess it. And no matter how many times my good father forgave me, I have persisted in my infamy."

"This is folly, Tyrion," declared Lord Tywin. "Speak to the matter at hand. You are not on trial for being a dwarf."

"That is where you err, my lord. I have been on trial for being a dwarf my entire life."

"Have you nothing to say in your defense?"

"Nothing but this: I did not do it. Yet now I wish I had." He turned to face the hall, the sea of pale faces. "I wish I had enough poison for you all. You make me sorry that I am not the monster you would have me be, yet there it is. I am innocent, but I will get no justice here. You leave me no choice but to appeal to the gods. I demand a trial by battle."

Selene gasped along with the courtiers in shock.

"Have you taken leave of your wits?" Tywin questioned.

"No, I've found them. _I demand a trial by battle!"_

Selene rushed forward, "As do I!"

"What sort of madness is this?" Tywin shouted.

Selene opened her mouth, but Jaime came from behind and placed his left hand firmly over the bottom half of her face, to keep her from digging her own grave. Selene struggled as pandemonium reigned in the throne room.

" _Unhand her!_ " Tywin demanded.

When Jaime did, Selene walked to Tyrion and murmured, "I won't let you face this alone." He was shaking his head at her, a silent plead. She turned to face the judges.

The words stuck in her mouth, but the thought of Tyrion's head falling from his shoulders, alone, pushed them out, "I too demand a trial by combat."

"She knows not what she says!" Tyrion protested desperately. "She's just a child."

"She's old enough to wed," responded Tywin coolly.

Cersei could not have looked more pleased. "My father is right, my lords. Let the gods judge. Ser Gregor Clegane shall stand for Joffrey against Tyrion. He returned to the city the night before last, to put his sword to my service. And as for Selene," was that worry that flickered in her mother's eyes? "a member of the Kingsguard will do."

Lord Tywin's face was so dark that for half a heartbeat, Selene wondered if he'd drank some poisoned wine as well. He slammed his fist down on his legs, too angry to speak. It was Mace Tyrell who turned to Tyrion and asked the question, "Do you have a champion to defend your innocence?"

"He does, my lord." Prince Oberyn of Dorne rose to his feet. "The dwarf has quite convinced me. And my friend, your son Ser Garlan, will be defending the princess."

The uproar was deafening. Selene took special pleasure in the sudden doubt she glimpsed in Cersei's eyes. It took a hundred gold cloaks pounding the butts of their spears against the floor to quiet the room again. By then Lord Tywin Lannister had recovered himself. "Let the issue be decided on the morrow," he declared in iron tones. "I wash my hands of it." He gave Tyrion a cold angry look, then strode from the hall, out of the king's door behind the Iron Throne, his brother Kevan at his side.

Later, back in the tower cell, Tyrion poured them cups of wine and sent Podrick Payne off for cheese, bread, and olives. Selene was glad for it. She doubted she could keep down anything heavier. _Did you think I would go meekly, Grandfather?_ She thought with a smile, _I am too much my father's daughter for that._ She felt strangely at peace, now that she had snatched the power of life and death out of her grandfather's hands and into the gods. _Assuming there are gods, and they give a mummer's shit. If not, then I'm in Tyrell hands, and Tyrion in Dornish._ No matter what happened, Selene had the satisfaction of knowing that she'd kicked Lord Tywin's plans to splinters. If Prince Oberyn won, it would further inflame Highgarden against the Dornish; Mace Tyrell would see the man who crippled his son helping the dwarf who almost poisoned his daughter. And if the Mountain triumphed, Doran Martell might well demand to know why his brother had been served with death instead of justice. If Ser Garlan won, that would mean the death of a member of the Kingsguard. If he lost, Mace Tyrell would be in a black rage.

It was almost worth dying to know all the trouble they had made.

Tyrion drained his cup in one swallow, flung it to the side, and began to sing lustily.

_"He rode through the streets of the city  
_ _Down from his hill on high  
_ _O'er the winds and steps and cobbles  
_ _He rode to a woman's sigh  
_ _For she was his secret treasure  
_ _She was his shame and his bliss,  
_ _And a chain and a keep are nothing  
_ _Compared to a woman's kiss."_

Selene watched him in silence. "You loved her."

"She loved me," Tyrion said. "Well, I thought she did. She said she did." His eyes moistened.

Selene walked to him, knelt, and embraced him. She put her head on his chest and held him tight. She felt tears fall on her head. _If anyone deserves love in this world, it's Tyrion. The gods are so cruel._

Tyrion sniffed, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and gripped Selene by the shoulders. "You should not have demanded a trial by combat."

Selene frowned, "And leave you to face it alone?"

"Prince Oberyn and Mace Tyrell believed your innocence. You had two of the three judges on your side."

"You know as well as I do that Grandfather's opinion is the only one that matters here. You heard Jaime, I was going to be found guilty anyway."

Tyrion sighed, "I hope we haven't made a mistake."

Selene gave him a half smile, "There is no one I would rather make a mistake with."

He looked at her fondly, placed a quick kiss on her forehead, and responded, "Nor I, my dear niece."

That night, surprisingly, Selene slept long and deep. She rose at first light, well rested and with a hearty appetite, and broke her fast on bread, sausage, applecakes, and a double helping of eggs cooked with onions and fiery Dornish peppers. Selene and Tyrion begged leave of their guards to attend their champions. Ser Addam gave his consent.

Selene found Ser Garlan being attended to by three younger members of Reach nobility. Selene's trial was to be in the morning, and Tyrion's was at dusk. Prince Oberyn was drinking a cup of wine as he watched the Tyrell get ready for battle.

Tyrion looked at Oberyn, exasperated, "Should you be drinking before battle?"

"I am not meant to fight until later in the day, my lord. Besides, I always drink before a fight."

"That could get you killed. Worse, it could get _me_ killed."

Prince Oberyn laughed.

Selene walked over the Garlan, "How are you feeling today, ser?"

Ser Garlan swallowed, "Nervous, my lady. Two lives depend on me. Yours and my own."

"I cannot thank you enough for this, Ser Garlan."

"Please," he insisted, "call me Garlan."

Selene smiled, "Alright. Garlan."

He attempted a smile.

"Do you know who you are to face?"

Garlan shook his soft brown curls, "No, my lady."

Selene turned, "He would never face Loras, surely?"

"No," Tyrion answered. "They're brothers. The outcome, whatever it may be, will be blamed on familial ties. Nor will it be Jaime. He's the uncle of the accused…" Tyrion paused, "and of the victim. Ser Arys Oakheart is with Myrcella in Dorne, so-"

"Ser Meryn, Ser Boros, Ser Osmund, or Ser Balon," Selene said. "You are better than all of them, Garlan." She didn't know if that was true, but she had to believe it.

Tyrion was frowning, glancing between Martell and Tyrell, "You do realize Selene can't marry into _both_ of your houses?"

" _Tyrion,"_ Selene hissed. It had always been in the back of her mind, her eventual decision, but they needed the Martells and Tyrells to work together.

Oberyn shrugged, "She can't make her decision if she's dead."

Selene swallowed, "Fair point."

"This way, you survive to make your choice, and I," Prince Oberyn paused, smiling serenely, "I get to serve justice to the man who deserves it most."

The outer ward had been chosen for the combat. The day was grey and windy. The sun was struggling to break through the clouds, but Selene could no more have said who was going to win that fight than the one on which her life depended.

It looked as though a thousand people had come to see if she would live or die. They lined the castle walls and elbowed one another on the steps of the keeps and towers. They watched from the stable doors, from windows and balconies. And the yard was packed with them, so many that the gold cloaks and the knights of the Kingsguard had to shove them back to make enough room for the fight. Some had dragged out chairs to watch more comfortably, while others perched on barrels. _We should have done this in the Dragonpit,_ Selene thought sourly. _We could have charged a penny a head and paid Joffrey's wedding and funeral both._ Some of the onlookers even had small children with them.

Cersei stood next to Ser Boros Blount.

Selene frowned. _Mother has chosen Boros the Belly as her champion against me? This must be some sort of mummer's trick._ Even in Selene's current state, she stood a chance against Ser Boros.

Ser Garlan turned and bowed low to her. "I will not fail you."

Selene drew a silver ribbon from her hair. "Will you take my favor?"

Garlan accepted the fabric solemnly. "I will wear it with pride," he said, tying it around the hilt of his sword.

"May the gods protect you, Garlan."

As Selene took her place next to Tyrion, she could feel his foul mood.

"Tyrion?"

"Don't mistake me, niece," Tyrion began, a worrying start, "I'm glad that your champion is the clear favorite to win, but…why on earth is my champion facing the _Mountain,_ while yours faces this ugly, flat nosed coward?"

Selene looked up at the dais as her mother took her seat. Had Ser Boros just been sacrificed? Surely, Ser Balon would have stood a much better chance at defeating Garlan. Cersei's eyes met her own, unreadable.

Selene's mind was full of doubts. When she looked at Ser Garlan Tyrell, she found herself wishing for Ser Barristan instead. The second son of Highgarden was resplendent in his deep emerald green armor. His round steel shield was brightly polished, and bore two golden roses, a reminder of his position as second son.

A platform had been erected beside the Tower of the Hand, halfway between the two champions. That was where Lord Tywin sat with his brother and daughter. King Tommen was not here; for that at least, Selene was grateful.

Lord Tywin glanced briefly at his granddaughter, then lifted his hand. A dozen trumpeteers blew a fanfare to quiet the crowd. The High Septon shuffled forward in his tall crystal crown, and prayed that the Father above would grant justice, and that the Warrior would grant his strength to the arm of the one whose cause was just. _That would be me,_ Selene almost shouted, but they would only stare at her, and she was sick to death of their stares.

There were fifty yards between Garlan and Boros. Ser Garlan advanced quickly, Ser Boros more ponderously. _Is the ground shaking as they walk?_ Selene asked herself. _That is only my heart fluttering._

Tyrion took her hand.

When the two men were ten yards apart, Ser Garlan stopped and called out, "I do not wish to kill my brother's sworn brother."

Ser Boros's jowels wiggled as he spoke, "It seems you must." He slashed.

Ser Garlan slid sideways. Blount had to turn to keep him in sight.

Garlan's sword jabbed, but Boros took the blow with his shield and returned a move, his sword flashing. The Tyrell spun away untouched. His sword darted forward again and was blocked. Metal screamed on metal as the swords kissed.

Ser Boros grunted, making a ponderous charge to hack at Garlan's head. Ser Garlan avoided it easily.

Ser Garlan landed a quick thrust on Ser Boros's belly, but his thick metal plates protected him. Boros cut at him, and missed. The crowd was roaring for some action.

It went on that way for what seemed like a long time. Back and forth they moved across the yard, and round and round in spirals. Ser Garlan was fighting as cautiously as he could, and Selene could tell he was terrified of making of mistake. _Waiting is a special kind of agony._

All around the yard, the throng of spectators were creeping in toward the two combatants, edging forward to get a better view. The Kingsguard tried to keep them back, shoving at the gawkers forcefully with their big white shields, but there were hundreds of gawkers and only five men in white armor.

Selene could hardly tear her eyes from the fight, but she did shoot a glance at Ser Loras. He gave her an encouraging nod. _He believes in his brother. Gods I hope-_

Quicker than Selene could believe, Ser Garlan charged headlong, pushing past Ser Boros's sword with his own. Suddenly, the Tyrell was close enough to strike, his sword flashing in a steel blur. Boros attempted to lift his shield, but he was too late.

Ser Garlan's sword caught him in the neck, killing in a single blow.

Selene never heard her grandfather speak the words that freed her. Perhaps no words were necessary. The people were cheering for the bright and handsome Tyrell, for the brother of their beloved Margaery.

Ser Garlan removed his helm, and began to walk towards her, his grin swallowing half of his face.

Tyrion was saying something to her, but Selene didn't hear a word of it. Relief swept through her like a wave, and then rushed to her head like a drug. Selene let out of joyful cry and rushed forward, throwing her arms around her savior.

"Thank you," she mumbled in his curls, her voice tight.

Garlan returned her embrace, "The gods only proved what I knew to be true."

"It wasn't the gods," Selene said as she faced him. His eyes were like molten gold, and she felt drunk with victory. "It was _you._ _You_ saved me."

The crowd only cheered louder at their embrace. Selene could only imagine what it looked like from the outside. A handsome young knight saving a princess, their embrace…it was the sort of thing songs were made of. And the commoners loved their songs.

"Ask it of me, and it's yours, Garlan," Selene said, half-laughing with relief.

He smiled at her, but it was sad. "I couldn't possibly-"

"Ask it of me."

Ser Garlan swallowed nervously, his eyes flitting down to her lips.

Garlan reddened, "I-I…."

"Kiss!" A lone voice shouted above the rest. " _Kiss!"_ A few more people took up the call. Soon, it seemed the entire realm was shouting at them. " _Kiss! Kiss! KISS!"_

"Princess, you don't-" Garlan was redder than an apple. "Selene..."

 _He is every inch a chivalrous knight,_ Selene thought. _And in the songs, maidens reward gallant knights with chaste kisses._

Selene took a final, resolved look at Ser Garlan, before stepping forward on the tips of her toes and pressing her lips to his own.

The crowd went mad. Garlan froze, his eyes fluttering shut. It was feather light, a breath of a kiss, and in a moment it was over.

Uncle Jaime walked up to her, beaming, "You're free, niece. You're free."

Selene laughed, and embraced him too.

It wasn't until she turned and saw Tyrion that she remembered how uncertain his own fate was.

"Oh, uncle," she said as she walked over and took his hands. "Don't be frightened. Prince Oberyn will do just as well."

"I'm happy for you, my dear," Tyrion said, his eyes filled with worry.

Ser Addam came forward, "I must return Lord Tyrion to his rooms until the time comes for his own trial."

 _I'm free,_ Selene truly realized as she watched Tyrion be escorted away. _I can go wherever I please._

###

"Selene," her mother said in a voice laced with surprise.

Selene was surprised, too. She couldn't say why she came to her mother's solar. She knew even less why her grandfather was there.

"So the gods have declared you innocent," Lord Tywin observed.

"They have," Selene said, the hem of her Baratheon yellow gown kissing the floor as she went to pour three goblets of wine. It was the only way she could bear to talk to her family. "Curious," she mused as she handed the wine to her mother and grandfather, "how Ser Boros came to be an instrument for the gods."

"A pity," Lord Tywin said gravely, raising the cup to his lips. "He was a fine knight."

Selene could not hide her smile, "Mother?"

Cersei's own smile was forced, "He was the picture of gallantry."

Selene laughed, "Oh, come now. Both of you. Can't we be honest in this family? For one moment?"

They stared at her.

Selene sighed, "I know Ser Boros gave up Tommen to Tyrion's sellsword when he was smuggled out of King's Landing before the Battle of the Blackwater. I know you, Mother, removed his white cloak from him, and rightly so, for forsaking his vows and offering up Tommen to Bronn without a fight." Selene's eyes flitted to Tywin, "And you compounded that shame by giving the white cloak back to him. He was not worthy of it."

Cersei grimaced, "He should have died right then. He should have died rather than give up my son to that bloody sellsword." She drank a gulp of wine.

"And on that, Mother, we can agree. My question is, why? Why chose him to fight Ser Garlan? Even a blind man could have seen Ser Boros didn't stand a chance against Ser Garlan the Gallant, a legendary swordsman." Selene turned to Tywin, "Why him?"

Cersei leaned forward at her desk, "I chose Ser Boros, actually."

Selene gave her mother a passing glance, "You can't do anything without Grandfather's approval." Selene turned back to Tywin. "I won't repeat myself."

Selene could feel Cersei's anger emanate from her. _Good. I would rather her be furious and careless than calm and cunning._

If Tywin had any idea of his daughter's mood or his granddaughter's intention, he did not show it. "Why indeed?" Tywin's eyes glinted. It was a look Selene recognized from her childhood. The same look he gave his grandchildren when he posed a question to test their intelligence, and waited for their answer.

"You don't want me dead."

"You have more use to us alive. Even if you did murder your brother."

Selene's look hardened. "I didn't kill him. The gods themselves have proved me innocent."

"I'm afraid there's nothing you can say that will convince me otherwise. You were angry about that business at the Twins, and you wanted revenge."

" _That business at the Twins?"_ Selene repeated, incredulous. "Joffrey had nothing to do with that. If I want vengeance," Selene leaned back in her chair, "I know where to go."

Tywin rose, "Well, you know where to find me. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do before Tyrion's trial."

Selene's eyes followed him across the room and out the door.

Her mother's finger tapped her goblet. After a moment of silence, Selene gripped the chair as if to stand.

"Don't you want to know why I chose Ser Boros?" Cersei blurted.

Selene stared at her mother for a moment. "Grandfather just told me why."

"He doesn't make every decision, you know."

 _She is so desperate to be like him,_ Selene thought. _My mother likes to think of herself as Lord Tywin with teats, but she's wrong. Tywin is as relentless and implacable as a glacier, where Mother is all wildfire, especially when slighted._

When Cersei saw her daughter would not speak, she said softly, "I could not watch you die."

"You accused me!" Selene could not stop her voice from rising.

"You were laughing over his corpse, what was I supposed to do?" Cersei responded sharply. "But I know my daughter. You wouldn't kill him." A ghost of a smile graced her lips, "You loved him so much, once. When he was born, you would spend every moment by his side. You said you were looking after him. That it was your duty as his sister." Cersei looked away, eyes flicking back and forth in deep thought, "You couldn't kill him. Even if you wanted to." _She sounds like she's trying to convince herself more than me._ Cersei's eyes met Selene's, "Just like you can't kill me."

Selene's breath hitched in her throat, "You think I'll kill you?"

"I have been looking for signs of that wood witch's prophecy since the day it was foretold to me. It wasn't until you first showed interest in picking up a sword that I started piecing it together. Your name, Robert's friendship with the wolves of Winterfell and their heir being of the same age, Tyrion's love for you-"

Selene had researched that Valyrian word. _Little brother._ "What does Tyrion have to do qith it?"

"He killed my mother." Cersei's voice was soft, "He has threatened my life more times than I can count and he has killed my son." She looked out the window, closed her eyes, and took a deep, peaceful breath. "I count the moments until Ser Gregor kills that arrogant prince. Until I see Tyrion's ugly head fall from his twisted body. Then I will finally be free."

Selene stood, "I won't let Tyrion die."

"He's already dead."

###

"Are you still drinking?" Tyrion asked incredulously.

"It loosens me up," Oberyn explained. "What do I have to fear? The gods defend the innocent. You _are_ innocent, I trust?"

"Only of killing Joffrey," Tyrion admitted. "I do hope you know what you're about to face. Gregor Clegane is-"

"-large? So I've heard."

"He is almost eight feet tall and must weigh thirty stone, and all of it muscle," Selene said as Dornish lordlings hurried to armor their prince. "He fights with a two-handed greatsword, but needs only one hand to wield it. He has been known to cut men in half with a single blow. His armor is so heavy that a lesser man could bear the weight, let alone move in it."

Prince Oberyn was unimpressed, "I have killed large men before. The trick is to get them off their feet. Once they go down, they're dead." The Dornishman sounded so blithely confident that Selene felt almost reassured, until he turned and said, "Daemon, my spear!" Ser Daemon tossed it to him, and the Red Viper snatched it from the air.

Tyrion paled.

"You mean to face the Mountain with a _spear?"_ Ser Garlan asked disbelievingly. And for good reason. In battle, ranks of spears made for a formidable front, but single combat against a skilled swordsman was a very different matter.

"We are fond of spears in Dorne. Besides, it is the only way to counter reach. Have a look, my lady, but see you do not touch." The spear was turned ash eight feet long, the shaft smooth, thick, and heavy. The last two feet of that was steel: a slender leaf-shaped speared. The edges looked sharp enough to shave with. When Oberyn spun the spear between the palms of his hand, the point glistened black. _Oil? Or poison?_

Selene decided she would sooner not know. "I hope you're good with that."

"I've never given anyone cause for complaint," he said with a glint of his black eyes. "Though Ser Gregor might. However thick his plate, there will be gaps at the joints. I will find a place to tickle him, I promise you." He set the spear aside and spoke to Tyrion, "It is said that a Lannister always pays his debts. Perhaps you will return to Sunspear with me when the day's bloodletting is done. My brother Doran would be most pleased to meet the rightful heir to Casterly Rock…especially if he brought his lady wife of Winterfell and his niece, the rightful heir to the throne."

_Does the snake think we have Sansa hidden away somewhere?_

Tyrion tread carefully, "A trip to Dorne might be very pleasant, now that I reflect on it."

"Plan a lengthy visit." Prince Oberyn sipped his wine. "You and Doran have many matters of mutual interest to discuss. Music, trade, history, wine…the laws of inheritance and succession. No doubt an uncle's counsel will be of benefit to Queen Selene in the trying times ahead."

If Varys had little birds listening, Oberyn was giving them quite an earful.

"I think I will have some wine now," Tyrion said as he stumbled to the pitcher.

Selene's mind was whirling. _If only we knew where Sansa was. If she declared for me, would the north follow?_ What the Red Viper was bluntly hinting at was treason. Could she truly take up arms against Tommen? _Mother would spit blood._ It was almost worth it for that alone.

"We shall talk of all that and more later. My helm, Dagos." It was handed to him. A high golden helm with a copper disk mounted on the brow, the sun of Dorne. "Elia and her children have waited a long time for justice," Prince Oberyn pulled on his red leather gloves and took up his spear, "and this day they shall have it."

As the room emptied, Garlan spoke up, "A word, princess?"

The door shut behind a Dornish lordling, and they were alone.

Selene frowned, "My uncle's trial-"

"This will only take a moment," Garlan explained. "I wanted to speak of earlier."

Selene was glad that her back was to him, because at that, she grimaced. _I've given him hope. I was just so relieved to be saved, to quite literally be pulled from the fire, and he was handsome and there._ How could Selene tell him she had no deeper feelings? That, to her, it had felt as passionate and been as meaningful as one would expect kissing a wall would be.

Ser Garlan surprised her, "I'm no fool. I know you're meant for my brother. Or, if you choose, a Martell. I have no grand romantic delusions."

Selene turned, "Truly?"

"Don't look so surprised," he said with a playful smile, "and don't mistake me, my lady. I will treasure that gift always. How many men can say they have received a kiss of gratitude from a princess they saved? That's all it was, wasn't it? Gratitude?"

Selene gave him an apologetic smile, and nodded.

Garlan's lips pressed into a hard line, and then he nodded resolutely, "Of course. It all felt like a song, didn't it, my lady?" He offered her his arm.

Selene took it, "I have no doubt it will be."

The ward seemed even more crowded than it did earlier. Cersei seemed half a child beside Ser Gregor. In his armor, the Mountain looked bigger than any man had a right to be. _He looks as though he was chiseled out of rock, standing there._ His greatsword was planted in the ground before him, six feet of scarred metal. Even Prince Oberyn's paramour paled at the sight of him.

"You are going to fight _that?_ " Ellaria Sand said in a hushed voice.

"I am going to kill that," her lover replied carelessly.

"He's the biggest man I've ever seen."

"Size does not matter when you're flat on your back," Ser Garlan reassured her.

"Thank the gods," Tyrion mumbled besides Selene, his eyes fixed on Clegane.

"In the sights of gods and men, we have gathered to ascertain the guilt or innocence of Tyrion Lannister," said the Hand of the King. "May the gods have mercy and enact justice."

Trumpets blew.

Ellaria Sand grabbed Oberyn for a passionate embrace. As Oberyn pulled away, she pleaded, "Do not leave me alone in this world."

"Never," he said softly. And Selene knew that for all his talk and swagger, Oberyn was Ellaria's, and Ellaria was Oberyn's.

Oberyn twirled his spear in the air to the cheering of the crowds as Selene took Tyrion's hand.

"Have they told you who I am?"

Ser Gregor grunted through his breaths, "Some dead man." He came on, inexorable.

The Dornishman slid sideways. "I am Oberyn Martell, a prince of Dorne," he said, as the Mountain turned to keep him in sight. "Princess Elia was my sister."

"Who?" asked Ser Gregor.

Oberyn's long spear jabbed, but Ser Gregor took the point with his shield.

"Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne," the Red Viper hissed. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children."

Ser Gregor grunted. He made a ponderous charge to hack at the Dornishman's head.

Oberyn avoided it easily. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children."

"Did you come to talk or fight?"

"I came to hear you confess." The Red Viper landed a quick thrust on the Mountain's belly, to no effect. Gregor cut at him, and missed. _The Mountain makes for a big target, at least,_ Selene thought. Prince Oberyn could scarcely miss, though none of his blows were penetrating the Mountain's thick metal plate. The Mountain's helm had a narrow eye slit, severely limiting his vision. Oberyn was making good use of that, and the length of his spear, and his quickness.

Clegane would grunt from time to time, and once Selene heard him mutter a curse, but otherwise he fought in sullen silence.

Not Oberyn Martell. "You raped her," he called, feinting. "You murdered her," he said, dodging a looping cut from Gregor's greatsword. "You killed her children," he shouted, slamming the spearpoint into the giant's throat, only to have it glance off the thick steel gorget with a screech.

"Oberyn is toying with him," Ellaria Sand said.

 _That is fool's play,_ thought Selene. "The Mountain is too bloody big to be anyone's toy."

"You raped her." Prince Oberyn parried a savage cut with his spearhead. "You murdered her." He sent the spearpoint at Clegane's eyes, so fast the huge man flinched back. "You killed her children." The spear flicked sideways and down, scraping against the Mountain's breastplate. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children." Gregor tried to bull rush, but Oberyn skipped aside and circled around his back. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children."

"Be quiet." Ser Gregor seemed to be moving a little slower, his greatsword no longer rising quite so high as it had when the contest began. "Shut your bloody mouth."

"You raped her," the prince said, moving to the right.

" _Enough!_ " Ser Gregor took two long strides and brought his sword down on Oberyn's head, but the Dornishman backstepped once more. "You murdered her," he said.

 _"SHUT UP!"_ Gregor charged headlong, right into the point of the spear, which slammed into his right breast the slid aside with a hideous shriek. Oberyn caught that blow on his shield. Metal met metal with an ear-splitting clang, sending the Red Viper reeling. Ser Gregor followed, bellowing. _He doesn't use words, he just roars like an animal,_ Selene thought. Oberyn's retreat became a headlong backward flight mere inches ahead of a greatsword as it slashed at his chest, his arms, his head. Tyrion's grip on Selene's hand tightened with fear.

The stable was behind him. Spectators screamed and shoved at each other to get out of the way. One stumbled into Oberyn's back. Ser Gregor hacked down with all his savage strength. The Red Viper threw himself sideways, rolling. The luckless stableboy behind him was not so quick. As his arm rose to protect his face, Gregor's sword took it off between the elbow and shoulder. " _Shut UP!"_ the Mountain howled at the stableboy's scream, and this time he swung the blade sideways, sending the top half of the lad's head across the yard in a spray of blood and brains. Hundreds of spectators suddenly seemed to lose all interest in the guilt or innocence of Tyrion Lannister, judging by the way they pushed and shoved each other to escape the yard.

But the Red Viper of Dorne was soon back on his feet, his long spear in hand. "Elia," he called to Ser Gregor. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children. Now say her name."

The Mountain whirled. Helm, shield, sword, surcoat; he was spattered with gore from head to heels. "You talk to much," he grumbled. "You make my head hurt."

"I will hear you say it. She was Elia of Dorne."

The Mountain snorted contemptuously, and came on…and in that moment the sun broke through the low clouds that had hidden in the sky since dawn.

 _The sun of Dorne,_ Selene told herself, but it was Gregor Clegane who moved first to put the sun at his back. _This is a dim and brutal man, but he has a warrior's instinct._

The Red Viper crouched, squinting, and sent his spear darting forward again. Ser Gregor hacked at it, but the thrust had only been a feint. Off balance, he stumbled forward a step.

Prince Oberyn tiled his dinted metal shield, a shaft of sunlight blazed blindingly off polished gold and copper into the narrow slit of Clegane's helm. Gregor lifts is own shield against the glare. Prince Oberyn's spear flashed like lightning and found the gap in the heavy plate, the joint under the arm. The point punctured through mail and boiled leather. Gregor gave a choked grunt as the Dornishman twisted his spear and yanked it free.

"Elia. Say it! Elia of Dorne!" He was circling. " _Say it!"_

Selene had her own mantra. _Fall down and die,_ was how it went. _Damn you, fall down and die!_ The blood was trickling from the Mountain's armpit was his own now, and he must be bleeding even more heavily from inside the plate. When he tried to take a step, one knee buckled.

Prince Oberyn had circled behind him. " _ELIA OF DORNE!"_ he shouted. Ser Gregor started to turn, but too slow and too late. The spearhead went through the back of his knee this time, through the layers of chain and leather between the plates on thigh and calf. The Mountain reeled, swayed, then collapsed face first on the ground. His huge sword went flying from his hand. Slowly, ponderously, he rolled on his back.

The Dornishman grabbed his spear with both hands, and ran at his fallen foe. " _EEEEELLLLLIIIIIAAAAA!"_ he screamed, as he drove the spear down with the whole weight of his body behind it. The _crack_ of the ashwood shaft snapping was almost as sweet a sound as Cersei's wail of fury, and for an instant Prince Oberyn had wings. _The snake has vaulted over the mountain._ Four feet of broken spear jutted from Clegane's belly as Prince Oberyn rolled, rose, and dusted himself off. He tossed aside the splinted spear and claimed his foe's greatsword. "If you die before you say her name, ser, I will hunt you through all seven hells," he promised.

Ser Gregor tried to rise. The broken spear had gone through him, and was pinning him to the ground. He wrapped borth hands about the shaft, but he could not pull it out. Beneath him was a spreading pool of red.

"I am feeling more innocent by the instant," Tyrion told Selene.

Oberyn circled, " _Say her name!"_ He turned to the dais, pointing a finger at Tywin.

_"Who gave you the order?"_

The yard was as silent as death.

Selene exchanged a glance with Tyrion, and watched as her grandfather stared down at Prince Oberyn, his eyes as cold as chips of green ice.

" _WHO GAVE YOU THE ORDER?"_ Oberyn screamed as he moved closer to Ser Gregor, " _Say her name!"_ he put a foot on the Mountain's chest and raised the greatsword with both hands.

Whether he intended to hack off Gregor's head or shove the point through his eyeslit was something Selene would never know.

Clegane's hand shot up and grabbed the Dornishman behind the knee. The Red Viper brought down the greatsword in a wild slash, but he was off-balance, and the edge did no more than put another dent in the Mountain's armor. Then the sword was forgotten as Gregor's hand tightened and twisted, yanking the Dornishman down on top of him. They wrestled in the dust and blood, the broken spear wobbling back and forth. Selene saw with horror that the Mountain had wrapped one huge arm around the prince, drawing him tight against his chest, like a lover.

"Elia of Dorne," they all heard Ser Gregor say, when they were close enough to kiss. His deep voice boomed within the helm. "I killed her screaming whelp." He thrust his free hand into Oberyn's unprotected face, pushing steel fingers into his eyes. " _Then_ I raped her." Clegane slammed a fist into Oberyn's mouth, knocking his teeth to splinters

Ellaria Sand gave a wail of terror as Ser Gregor pulled a dagger from his belt and drove it deep into Prince Oberyn's belly.

Selene had heard that noise before, the sound of steel sinking into flesh, but she had never paid it so much attention. She flinched as if she was the one being stabbed.

Ser Gregor tossed Oberyn to the side like rubbish. Ellaria was still screaming. And Tyrion…Tyrion's breakfast came boiling back up. He was on his knees retching up the filling breakfast they shared only that morning.

Selene dropped to her knees beside him, placing a hand on his back, "Uncle?"

Tyrion was gasping for breath, "I put my life in the Viper's hands, and he dropped it." He paused, "I've only just remembered, snakes don't have hands." He began to laugh hysterically.

 _He has lost his wits._ "Don't worry, Uncle," Selene whispered as gold cloaks surrounded them. "I won't let you die."

Lord Tywin rose, upright and correct, "The gods have made their will known. Tyrion Lannister, in the name of King Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, you're hereby sentenced to death."

Tyrion's eyes found her face, but it was as if he saw right through her. He glanced at the gold cloaks, "Will I be moved to a black cell?"

They did not bother answering him.

_Why waste your breath on the dead?_


	42. A Lannister Pays Her Debts

"Please," Selene begged. "I know you spoke against me at the trial, but you're my only hope."

Varys raised his brows, "And what exactly do you think I can do?'

"Smuggle him out of the castle!" Selene shouted, but then, remembering she was in Varys's humble chambers, lowered her voice, "Please… He's all I have left."

Varys looked at her pitifully, "Dear child, I spoke against you at your own trial. What madness possesses you to think that I will risk my own life to save Tyrion's?"

"The madness of desperation," Selene answered. "You know all the secrets of this castle. If anyone can get Tyrion out, it's you. And though you spoke against me, I know you have a heart somewhere."

His eyes flashed, "What on earth gave you that impression?"

"Only this. You knew of my affection for a certain son of Winterfell," Selene could hardly bear to say Jon's name, "and yet you did nothing to tarnish my reputation. It could have ruined me and my pursuit of a Stark marriage, but you said nothing. Why?"

Varys gave her a mysterious smile, "I do enjoy speaking so candidly with you, my dear. _Why,_ you ask. Because I still had hope for your cause, and I could see that a realm under your rule would be a realm at peace. Now I carry no such delusions. The realm needs another."

"I don't care about that anymore," Selene told him, surprised at her words, and more surprised that she meant them. "All I care for now is peace. I want to _rest._ I want to live. And I want to save what little family I have left. Varys-"

"I sympathize with you, princess, I truly do." Varys looked at her kindly, "You didn't ask for any of this. You didn't ask to be born of royalty, newly-made though it was…" he added, musing. "If circumstances were different, you would have been a lady of Storm's End, perhaps even lady-in-waiting, cousin, and friend to a Targaryen queen, but fate had something else in mind, didn't it?"

Selene was confused, but tried to steer the conversation back to Tyrion. "Perhaps. Varys…Tyrion is a good man. And a great Hand, was he not? He defended the city and did all he could for its people."

That made Varys pause, "Yes, he played the game well."

"The world needs more men like Tyrion, not less. He could still do so much."

Varys' brows drew together, "Perhaps…"

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_ Selene nearly jumped out her skin when someone nearly beat the door down.

Varys looked unhappy, "Were you followed?"

"No!" she whispered fiercely. Selene had taken every care.

Varys did not seem to believe her. "Well, hide." Selene took her eyes off him for a moment, but the next thing she knew she was being shoved into an alcove in the wall that definitely wasn't there a few moments before. "Stay silent," he instructed, and then the wall _moved._ It slid in front of her, hiding her from sight. Selene tried not to panic, but she hated enclosed spaces, and it felt like she could be buried alive in this wall. There was a slight crack that was just big enough for her to press an eye to it.

When Varys was satisfied, he moved to the door. It swung open wide.

"To what do I owe this honor, my lord?" Varys said amiably.

"Spare me, spider," Jaime Lannister said as he strode into the room and shut the door. Before Selene could blink, his sword was out and pointed at Varys's chest. He held it with his left hand, and Selene could see he was still unused to that, but clumsy or not, Varys was in danger.

"I need your help."

Varys sighed, "You need not bother with the theatrics, ser."

Jaime narrowed his eyes, "This is the only language people like you understand."

Varys giggled, "Oh no, my lord, quite the contrary. It's the only language people like _you_ understand. Your niece was far more persuasive."

Jaime blinked, "Selene was here?"

" _Is_ here," Varys said, and then the stone slid back, revealing Selene where she hid.

Jaime frowned, "What are you doing here?"

Selene tried to muster up some dignity, "I could ask you the same question."

"Gods, you two are worse than children," Varys said, pinching his nose. "You are both here for the same reason, I presume. You believe only I can save your beloved Tyrion.

"You would defy Grandfather?" Selene asked, incredulous. She knew that he and Tywin had been fighting about Jaime leaving the Kingsguard. Tywin wanted Jaime to take his place in Casterly Rock, but Jaime refused to break his vows. Selene knew Jaime and Tywin weren't speaking, but she didn't think Jaime would dare defy Tywin so boldly. Jaime had also told Selene that Cersei had been distant as well, as the two of them had argued over Tyrion's imprisonment.

Jaime looked about the room, realized he could speak truthfully, and sighed, "I've lost a hand, a father, a son, a sister, and a lover, and soon enough I'll lose a brother. And yet they keep telling me House Lannister won this war." Jaime met her eyes, "I can't lose Tyrion."

Varys cleared his throat, "Because I can does not mean that I will."

Jaime took a step forward, his sword gleaming in the dim light of the hearth.

Varys sighed, unimpressed, "Right, of course. You'll kill me."

"That's right."

Varys turned to Selene, "You, on the other hand, made an excellent point."

"I did?"

"Yes. Tyrion is a man of talent, and he has a part to play in the wars to come."

"Wars to _come?"_ Selene was so tired of war. _How many wars will I see in my lifetime?_ But she played along. Whatever it took to convince Varys to help. "Yes, he does have a role to play." _Whatever that means._

"I will help you. Here's what you must do."

###

Selene paced back and forth in her chambers, her mind in turmoil.

The plan was to wait until three hours past midnight, but Selene was so anxious about it she could not fall asleep. So she paced.

_I'm running away._

It had taken longer for her to convince Varys to take her as well as Tyrion, but in the end he saw that she would not budge. Jaime had stayed quiet during that part of the exchange, but his eyes had been sad.

_What else am I to do?_ Selene was tired of other people making her decisions for her. She only considered Highgarden so she could protect Sansa, but now only the gods knew where Sansa Stark was hiding. She considered the Martells to be a potential valuable ally, but with Joffrey dead, things had changed. _My beloved Tommen sits the throne now, and I won't raise an army against him, no matter who thinks I should._ With Tommen and Margaery set to wed, and Myrcella in Dorne, her siblings were safe where they were, and Selene wouldn't risk their lives for the throne. _It's just a stupid chair. Their lives are infinitely more important. I fought for the throne, and I lost. Time to accept that._

So she decided to go east with Tyrion, wherever that would lead her. Besides her siblings, both of whom she would never be allowed to see, Tyrion was the only family she had left.

_And Jaime._

That thought took her by surprise. It seemed Oberyn's plan had backfired. _I was meant to expose him to the realm, but I ended up seeing him for who he truly is._

Oberyn was another matter entirely. The sword in his belly had been terrible and deep, but Oberyn Martell was nothing if not a fighter, and he fought against his death with shaking breaths. A team of maesters were doing what they could to save him, on Tywin Lannisters orders. With Myrcella in Dorne, Tywin knew Oberyn's death would be an ill thing. _They may save his life,_ Selene thought, _but he will never walk or see again._ What kind of life was that, after living as the legendary Red Viper?

Oberyn wasn't the only ally she would be leaving behind. Ser Garlan had risked his life for her, and though she shared no deeper feelings than friendship, that friendship made it hard to leave him with no explanation. _Perhaps I can leave letters to Varys for them both._

Varys had sent little birds to gather some things she wanted to bring with her, like Stormsbane. She had the dagger made from her winter crown around her waist. _My winter dagger,_ she thought with a smile, touching its simple leather hilt. _Robb had it forged for me as a crown, and Tywin had it reforged into a weapon meant to take my life._ Now it was one of her most treasured possessions. It was a small piece of Robb she would always carry, and she meant to use it.

That left her silver stag crown.

It would be bulky and conspicuous, so perhaps she could pry the moonstone out of it. Selene walked over to where it sat on the table. Gently, she picked it up.

Grief exploded in her chest.

With a frightened gasp, Selene dropped the crown as if it was scalding. The crown had been silent and cold ever since Jon gave the wildling girl her necklace.

_He has my necklace again._

Selene bent down and carefully picked up the crown. Tears rose unbidden to her eyes and a sob escaped her. _Is this how Jon feels right now?_ She wiped at her face. The feeling was all too familiar. _Such unbearable loss._

She went to the bed and laid down. It was hard to fall asleep with the plan set in motion and the sorrow the crown was making her feel. For a moment she worried about sleeping through the night, but remembered that Varys was sending one of his little birds to wake her.

Slowly, after several minutes of forced deep breaths, she fell into troubled slumber.

Selene was surrounded by a blood and darkness.

She was in the middle of a terrible battle. She recognized the main courtyard of Castle Black, but it was half a ruin thanks to the fighting. Wildlings and men of the Night's Watch were engaged in a frantic and epic battle, but Selene's eyes were searching for one.

She couldn't find him in the courtyard, but she did see wildlings climbing the steps of a makeshift barricade pressed against the Wall. Someone was shooting flaming arrows at it frantically. And then they must have ran out, because the black brother hurled torches at the steps.

_Why-_

Selene's momentary question was answered when flames leapt to the sky from the barricade steps. In the darkness, the brightness of the fire nearly blinded her, and she winced. Stranger still, she couldn't _feel_ the chill in the air, the heat of the flames, or the wind that was whipping at everyone's faces.

It was that wind, and the fire, that did all the rest. With flames below and above, the wildlings had nowhere to go. Some continued upward, and died. Some went downward, and died. Some stayed where they were. They died as well. Many leapt from the stairs before they burned, and died from the fall. Twenty odd wildlings were stull huddled together between the fires when the ice cracked from the heat, and the whole lower third of the stair broke off, along with several tons of ice. _The Wall defends itself,_ Selene remembered Lord Commander Mormont saying once. She didn't understand at the time. Now she did.

Selene saw brothers bundled in black search among the wreckage, and her eyes searched for one in particular. Only when torchlight flickered for a moment over his pale face, did Selene see Jon Snow wandering through the dark with a crutch under one arm, and the other around a boy who was as pretty as a girl, with dark eyes and raven's ringlets.

Selene followed them.

The stables and the common hall had burned down to smoking cinders, but the fire still raged along the Wall, climbing step by step and landing by landing. From time to time she would hear a groan and then a _craaack,_ and another chunk would come crashing off the Wall. The air was full of ash and ice crystals.

Selene was walking beside Jon, silent as a ghost, when he found Ygritte sprawled along a patch of old snow beneath the Lord Commander's Tower, with an arrow between her breasts. The ice crystals had settled over her face, and in the moonlight it looked as though she wore a glittering silver mask.

Jon's face was stone as he knelt beside her.

Selene felt like she had a hole in her chest. Her lips were trembling, and not from cold, and she had to swallow tears. _This is how Jon feels._

Ygritte's eyes opened. "Jon Snow," she said, very softly. It sounded as though the arrow had found a lung. "Is _this_ a proper castle now? Not just a tower?"

"It is." Jon took her hand.

"Good," she whispered. "I wanted t' see one proper castle, before…before I…"

"You'll see a hundred castles," he promised her. "The battle's done. Maester Aemon will see to you." He touched her hair, "You're kissed by fire, remember? Lucky. It will take more than an arrow to kill you. Aemon will draw it out and patch you up, and we'll get you some milk of the poppy for the pain."

Her hand fumbled around her neck, and Selene saw with shock that she was trying to pry her necklace off.

"Take it," Ygritte mumbled, her gloved fingers clumsy. " _Take_ it."

Jon looked as surprised as Selene felt. Gently, he unlatched the silver chain and held it tight in his hands. He looked from the slender crescent moon to Ygritte, his eyes swimming in tears.

"You…you were made to be free, Jon Snow," Ygritte murmured, her voice growing softer and softer. "Made to…to love. Don't forget that."

Jon's voice was thick, "I won't."

Ygritte smiled at that. "D'you remember that cave? We should have stayed in the cave. I told you so."

"We'll go back there," he said. "You're not going to die, Ygritte. You're not."

"Oh," she cupped his cheek with her hand, "you know nothing, Jon Snow," she sighed, dying.

###

When Jaime was finally able to push the cell door open, Selene heard her uncle's voice in the blackness, " _Come on,_ are you frightened of a dwarf? Do it, you son of a poxy whore."

"Is that any way to speak of our lady mother?" Jaime asked, the torch in his left hand casting light on Tyrion's face. "This is even more ghastly than my cell at Riverrun, though not quite so dank."

For a moment, it was as if Tyrion could not breathe, "You?"

"Well, most of me. I left a hand at Harrenhal. Bringing the Brave Companions across the narrow sea was not one of Father's better notions."

A bark of hysterical laughter burst from his lips, "Oh gods," Tyrion said. "Jaime, I am so sorry, but…gods be good, look at the two of us. Handless and Noseless, the Lannister boys." He looked over Selene, "You'll need to lose something just to fit in."

"There were days when my hand smelled so bad I wished I was noseless." Jaime lowered the torch, so the light bathed his brother's face.

Abruptly, Tyrion seemed to remember why he was in the cell. "Are you two here to kill me?"

"Now that's ungrateful," Selene said. "Perhaps we should leave you here to rot if you're going to be so discourteous."

"Rotting is not the fate Cersei has in mind for me."

"Well no, if truth be told," Jaime said. "You're to be beheaded on the morrow, out on the old tourney grounds."

Tyrion laughed again, "Will there be food? You'll have to help me with my last words, my wits have been running like a rat in this cell."

"You won't need last words," Selene said firmly. "We're rescuing you."

"Who said I required rescue?"

"You know, I'd almost forgotten what an annoying little man you are." Jaime turned to Selene, "Let's leave him."

"Ha-ha," Tyrion laughed sardonically as he waddled out of the cell. "What time is it? I've lost all sense of the world outside."

"Three hours past midnight. The city sleeps." Jaime slid the torch back into place, on the wall between the cells.

The corridor was so poorly lit that Tyrion almost stumbled on the turnkey sprawled across the cold stone floor. He prodded him with a toe, "Is he dead?'

"Asleep," Selene answered. "The other three as well. Varys dosed their wine with sweetsleep, but not enough to kill them. Or so he swears. He is waiting back at the stairs, dressed up in a septon's robe. We're going down into the sewers, and from there to the river. A galley is waiting for us in the bay. Varys has agents in the Free Cities who will see that we do not lack for funds…but we need to be inconspicuous. Cersei will send men after us."

Tyrion's mouth twitched, "We? Us?"

Selene straightened, "I'm coming with you." When she saw Tyrion open his mouth to argue, she cut him off, "Don't try to dissuade me, we don't have the time. Varys tried hard enough, and failed, and there is nothing you can say to convince me otherwise." Selene thought for a moment, "We might do well to take new names."

"New names? Oh, certainly. And when the Faceless Men come to kill me, I'll say, 'No, you have the wrong man, I'm a _different_ dwarf with a hideous facial scar.'"

The three of them laughed with the absurdity of all of it. Then Jaime went to one knee and kissed Tyrion quickly once on each cheek.

"Thank you, Brother," Tyrion said. "For my life."

"It was…a debt I owed you." Jaime's voice was strange.

"A debt?" Tyrion cocked his head. "I do not understand."

"Good. Some doors are best left closed."

Selene frowned, "It sounds like you're opening it."

"Oh, dear," said Tyrion. "Is there something grim and ugly behind it? Could it be that someone said something _cruel_ about me once? I'll try not to weep. Tell me."

"Tyrion…"

_Jaime is afraid._ "Tell him," Selene insisted.

Jaime looked away. "Tysha," he said softly.

"Tysha?" Tyrion said in a choked voice, "What of her?"

"She was no whore. I never bought her for you. That was a lie Father commanded me to tell. Tysha was…she was what she seemed to be. A crofter's daughter, chance met on the road."

Selene stared at Tyrion, who was in turn staring at Jaime, as if he hadn't really heard him. "My wife," he croaked. "She wed me."

"For your gold, Father said. She was lowborn, and you were a Lannister of Casterly Rock. All she wanted was the gold, which makes her no different from a whore, so…so it would not be lie, not truly, and…he said you required a sharp lesson. That you would learn from it, and thank me later…"

" _Thank_ you?" Tyrion's voice was choked. "He gave her to his guards. A barracks full of guards. He made me watch and…" Tyrion could not finish the sentence.

"I never knew he would do that. You must believe me."

"Oh, _must_ I?" Tyrion snarled. "Why should I believe you about anything, ever? She was my _wife!"_

"Tyrion-"

He hit him. It was a slap, backhanded, but Tyrion put all his strength into it, all his rage and pain. Jaime was squatting, unbalanced. The blow sent him tumbling backward to the floor.

Selene jolted where she stood.

"I…I suppose I earned that."

"Oh, you've earned more than that, Jaime. You and my sweet sister and our loving father, yes, I can't begin to tell you what you've earned. But you'll have it, that I swear to you. A Lannister always pays his debts." Tyrion waddled away. Before he had gone a dozen yards, he bumped up against an iron gate.

Jaime came up behind him, "I have the keys."

"Then use them." Tyrion stepped aside.

Jaime unlocked the gate, pushed it open, and stepped through. He looked back over his shoulder. "Are you coming?"

"Not with you." Tyrion stepped through. "Give me the keys and go. We will find Varys on our own." He cocked his head and stared up at his brother with mismatched eyes. "Jaime, can you fight left-handed?"

"Rather less well than you," Jaime said bitterly.

"Good. Then we will be well matched if we should ever meet again. The cripple and the dwarf."

Jaime handed him the ring of keys. "I gave you the truth. You owe me the same. Did you do it? Did you kill him?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" asked Tyrion. "Joffrey would have been a worse king than Aerys ever was. He stole his father's dagger and gave it to a footpad to slit the throat of Brandon Stark, did you know that?"

Selene reeled like she had been slapped, " _What?"_

Jaime looked away in shame, "I…I thought he might have."

"Well, a son takes after his father. Joff would have killed me as well, once he came into power. For the crime of being short and ugly, of which I am so clearly guilty."

"You have not answered my question."

"You poor stupid blind crippled fool. Must I spell every little thing out for you? Very well. Cersei is a lying whore, she's been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and probably Moon Boy for all I know. And I am the monster they say I am. Yes, I killed your vile son." Tyrion grinned in madness. It was hideous, there in the torchlit gloom.

Jaime turned to walk away and stopped. He turned his head slightly in Selene's direction, "Are you sure about this?"

Selene looked from one uncle to another. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them, knowing her course. "I'm going with Tyrion."

Jaime turned to her, "Why? Ser Garlan won your life back for you. You're free."

Selene rounded on him, " _Free?_ If there is one thing I have never been, Uncle, it's free. What is there for me here? A forced marriage. Being under Grandfather's thumb? I'm going with Tyrion."

Tyrion looked up at her, "It will be dangerous."

"I would rather die with you in Essos than live the rest of my life a prisoner here."

Selene saw a ghost of a smile flicker on Tyrion's face.

Jaime was rooted where he stood. "Selene-"

"There is nothing for me here."

Jaime's brows drew together, as his eyes flitted back and forth between her own. "There's me," he said softly.

Selene looked down at Tyrion, whose face was still red with rage at Jaime. She wished from the bottom of her heart that Jaime could stay the perfect white knight of her childhood, but now she knew the truth. There was no black or white, only grey.

Selene walked up to Jaime slowly. When she stood before him, she stopped.

"Uncle, I…" There was too much to say.

Jaime reached out with his good hand. It hovered next to her cheek. Selene swallowed, and slowly leaned into his hand.

Jaime smiled, "You always were the best of me."

Selene bit her lip. This was the man who first taught her how to hold a sword. Who believed in her enough to give her a chance. The same man who threw Bran Stark from a Tower, who saved King's Landing, who fought with Ned Stark. Who gave Selene her name.

He was family.

She stepped forward into his chest and wrapped her arms around him. He froze, arm still extended. After a shocked moment, he returned her embrace.

"This war didn't just take from you," Selene mumbled into his chest, reminding Jaime of their earlier conversation in Varys' chambers. "This war gave you something back."

She could feel Jaime smiling. "I know. Be safe," he whispered in her hair.

"You, too." She wished she could stay there forever, but they were running out of time.

Selene stepped back.

Jaime's eyes looked glossy. Her uncle cleared his throat, nodded solemnly, turned without a word, and walked away.

Selene glanced at Tyrion, who was watching him go.

"You lied to hurt him."

Tyrion's eyes were unfocused. "Part of me wants to call to him, tell him it wasn't true, and beg for his forgiveness," his jaw locked, "but then I think of Tysha, and the words won't come."

They listened to the receding footsteps until they could not hear them anymore, then wandered off to look for Varys.

The eunuch was lurking in the dark of a twisting turnpike stair, garbed in a moth-eaten brown robe with a hood that hid the paleness of his face. "You were so long, I feared that something had gone amiss," he said when he saw them.

"Oh, no," Tyrion assured him in a poisonous voice. "What could _possibly_ have gone amiss?" He twisted his head back to stare up. "You're helping me."

"Am I? Ah." Varys giggled. It seemed strangely out of place in this place of cold stone and echoing darkness. "Your brother and niece can be most persuasive."

"Varys, you are as cold and slimy as a slug, has anyone ever told you? I should kill you where you stand."

"Tyrion," Selene chided.

The eunuch sighed, "The faithful dog is kicked, and no matter how the spider weaves, he is never loved. But if you slay me here, I fear for you, my lord. You may never find your way back to daylight." His eyes glittered in the shifting torchlight, dark and wet. "These tunnels are full of traps for the unwary."

Tyrion snorted, "Unwary? I'm the wariest man who ever lived, you helped see to that."

Varys looked around, "My lord, we must away. Your path is down."

_That's no lie, at least,_ Selene thought as she followed in the eunuch's wake, her heels scraping against the rough stone as they descended. It was very cold within the stairwell, a damp bone-chilling cold that set her to shivering at once. "What part of the dungeons are these?" she asked.

"Maegor the Cruel decreed four levels of dungeons for his castle," Varys replied. "On the upper level, there are large cells where common criminals may be confined together. They have narrow windows set high in the walls. The second level has the smaller cells where highborn captives are held. They have no windows, but the torches in the halls cast light through the bars. On the third level the cells are smaller and the doors are wood. The black cells, men call them. That was where Tyrion was kept, and Eddard Stark before him. But there is a level lower still. Once a man is taken down to the fourth level, he never sees the sun again, nor hears a human voice, nor breathes a breath free of agonizing pain. Maegor had the cells on the fourth level built for torment." They had reached the bottom of the stairs. An unlighted door opened before them. "This is the fourth level. Give me your hand, my lady. It is safer to walk in darkness here. There are things you would not wish to see."

Selene hung back a moment. Varys had already betrayed her once. Who knew what game the eunuch was playing? And what better place to murder someone than down in the darkness, in a place that no one knew existed? Her body might never be found.

On the other hand, what choice did she have? To go back up the steps and walk out of the main gate. No, that would not serve.

_Jaime would not be afraid,_ she thought. Selene took the eunuch by the hand and let herself be led through the black, following the soft scrape of leather on stone. Selene grabbed Tyrion's hand with her free one, and together their little trio descended. Varys walked quickly, from time to time whispering, "Careful, there are three steps ahead," or "The tunnel slopes downward here, princess." _I've lived here a beloved princess of the realm,_ Selene reflected, _and I leave like a rat scuttling through the dark, holding hands with a spider._

A light appeared ahead of them, too dim to be daylight, and grew as they hurried toward it. After a while she could see it was an arched doorway, closed off by another iron gate. Varys produced a key. They stepped through into a small round chamber. Five other doors opened off the room, each barred in iron. There was an opening in the ceiling as well, and a series of rungs set in the wall leading upward. An ornate brazier stood to one side, fashioned in the shape of a dragon's head. The coals in the beast's yawning mouth had burnt down to embers, but they still glowed with a sullen orange light. Dim as it was, the light was welcome after the blackness of the tunnel.

The juncture was otherwise empty, but on the floor was a mosaic of a three-headed dragon wrought in red and black tiles. Tyrion frowned at it, as if remembering something. "We are below the Tower of the Hand."

"Yes." Frozen hinges screamed in protest as Varys pulled open a long-closed door. Flakes of rust drifted to the floor. "This will take us out to the river."

Tyrion walked slowly to the ladder, ran his hand across the lowest rung. "This will take me up to my bedchamber."

"Your lord father's bedchamber now."

Tyrion looked up the shaft. "How far must I climb?"

Selene froze, and then looked up. _Tywin…_

"My lord, you are too weak for such follies, and there is no time. We must go."

"I have business above. How far?"

"Two hundred and thirty rungs, but whatever you intend-"

Selene interrupted, for she had business above as well, "Two hundred and thirty rungs, and then?"

"The tunnel to the left, but hear me-"

"How far along to the bedchamber?" Tyrion lifted a foot to the lowest rung of the ladder.

"No more than sixty feet. Keep one hand on the wall as you go. You will feel the doors. The bedchamber is the third." He sighed, "This is folly. Princess Selene, you are so close to the freedom you desire. Tyrion, your brother has given you your life back. Would you cast it away, and mine with it?"

"Varys, the only thing I value less than my life just now is yours. Wait for me here." He turned his back on the eunuch and began to climb.

Selene looked at Varys apologetically, and then followed her uncle, counting as she went.

Rung by rung, they ascended into darkness. At first she could see the dim outline of each rung as she grasped it, and the rough grey texture of the stone behind, but as she climbed the black grew thicker. _Thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen._ By thirty, her arms trembled with the strain of pulling. She paused a moment to catch her breath, and glanced down. A circle of faint light shone far below, half obscured by her own feet. Tyrion kept climbing. Selene swallowed her unease and resumed. _Thirty-nine fourty fourty-one._ By fifty, her legs burned. The ladder was endless, numbing. _Sixty-eight sixty-nine seventy._ By eighty, her back was a dully agony. Yet still she climbed. _One thirteen one fourteen one fifteen._

At two hundred and thirty, the shaft was black as pitch, but she could feel the warm air flowing from the tunnel to her left, like a breath of some great beast. Selene could hardly see, but she could sense Tyrion poking around with his foot. The tunnel was even more cramped than the shaft. Tyrion was short enough to walk upright, but Selene had to crawl on her hands and knees.

"At last," Tyrion said dryly, "a place made for dwarfs."

Selene scoffed as she followed his slow footsteps. He was counting his steps and feeling for gaps in the wall. Soon, they could hear voices, muffled and indistinct at first, then clearer. She listened closely. Two of her grandfather's guards were joking about the Imp's whore, saying how sweet it would be to fuck her, and how bad she must want a real cock in place of the dwarf's stunted little thing. "Most like it's got a crook in it," said one. That led him into a discussion of how Tyrion would die on the morrow. "He'll weep like a woman and beg for mercy, you'll see." The other figured Tyrion would face the axe brave as a lion, being a Lannister, and he was willing to bet his new shows. "Ah, shit in your boots," said the other, "you know they'd never fit these feet o'mine, Tell you what, if I win you can scour my bloody mail for a fortnight.

For the space of a few feet, Selene could hear every word of their haggling, but when she moved on, the voices faded quickly. _Small wonder Varys didn't want us to climb the ladder,_ Selene thought, smiling in the dark. _Little birds indeed._

They came to the third door and fumbled about for a long time before Tyrion's fingers brushed a small iron hook set between two stones. When he pulled down on it, there was a soft rumble that sounded loud as an avalanche in the stillness, and a square of dull orange light opened a foot to their left.

_The hearth?_ Selene thought. The fireplace was full of hot ash, and a black log with a hot orange heart burning within. She edged past it gingerly, taking quick steps so as not to burn her boots. When she found herself in the bedchamber, she stretched, breathing the silence. Had Tywin heard? Would he reach for his sword and raise the alarm?

"M'lord?" a woman's voice called softly.

Selene looked at Tyrion, whose face was blank. He took careful steps to the draperies and pulled them aside. The woman in the bed turned toward him with a sleepy smile on her lips. It died when she saw him. She pulled the blankets up to her chin, as if that would protect her.

"Were you expecting someone taller, sweetling?"

Big wet tears filled her eyes, "I never meant those things I said. The queen made me. _Please_. Your father frightens me so." She sat up, letting the blanket slide down to her lap. Beneath, she was naked, but for the chain about her throat. A chain of linked golden hands, each holding the next.

"My lady Shae," Tyrion said softly. "All the time I sat in the black cell waiting to die. I kept remembering how beautiful you were. In silk or roughspun or nothing at all…"

"M'lord will be back soon. You should go, or…did you come to take me away?"

"Did you ever like it?" He cupped her cheek. "Did you ever like my touch?"

"More than anything," she said, "my giant of Lannister."

Tyrion slid a hand under his father's chain, and twisted. The links tightened, digging into her neck. Selene stepped back slowly as Tyrion twisted and twisted, as the woman who betrayed him beat at him feebly. His grip was iron, though, and the sounds of Shae's strangled chokes echoed in the room.

Selene stepped back until she bumped against the wall, but froze as her fingers brushed something bristly. She froze, too terrified to turn around. Absurdly, she was less frightened of the scene before her than of what she prayed would not be behind her.

She did turn, though, and the breath she had been holding rushed out of her chest. It was Eleni. Or, what was left of her. It seemed the tales were true. Lord Walder did make a great cloak from her lion's skin. And here it hung, on Tywin's bedchamber wall.

Something in her chest snapped. Strangely, her eyes were dry. As slow as possible, Selene removed the cloak from the wall. In a smooth motion, she whipped it around her body. She breathed deep. The pelt smelled of must, and not the earthy smell Eleni always wore, but she felt braver than she had in a while. _I won't let you hang here, my friend. You're coming with me, like you always have._

Selene was so engrossed with her discovery, that she hadn't noticed that the whore's breathing finally stopped, or that her uncle had climbed a chest to grab the crossbow from the wall. His eyes glanced over her new attire as he slipped a bolt in the notch.

"It suits you," he said through a tear-stained face. Then he looked away, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too." The whore was sprawled over the bed, her neck a purple mess. Selene turned to the corridor, lifting her chin, resolute, "I'm tired of grief. Now it ends."

She followed Tyrion into the corridor. A lamp burned in a stone niche, casting wan yellow light over the empty hallway. Only the flame was moving. Tyrion slid out, holding the crossbow direct against his leg. Selene followed, hand on her newly forged dagger, the one that had once sat on her head as her crown. _I have the perfect sheathe in mind for it._

They found Tywin where they figured he'd be, in the dimness of the privy tower, bedrobe hiked up around his hips. At the sound of steps, Lord Tywin raised his eyes.

Tyrion gave him a mocking bow, "My lord."

"Tyrion. Selene." If he was afraid, Tywin Lannister gave no sign of it. "Who released you from your cell? You could not have done it alone." Tywin added with a glance to Selene.

"I'd love to tell you, but I swore a holy vow."

"The eunuch," her grandfather decided. "I'll have his head for this. Is that my crowssbow?"

"Were you ever going to tell me about Eleni's pelt?" Selene asked softly. "Or were you keeping this prize for yourself?"

Tywin's eyes narrowed, "Walder Frey did not deserve it. And I could hardly give it to you."

"So you kept it for yourself," Selene finished. "A reminder of your great victory at the Twins."

Tywin glanced back at Tyrion, "Put the crossbow down."

"All my life," Tyrion spoke softly, "you wanted me dead."

Tywin didn't blink, "Yes, but you refuse to die. I respect that. Even admire it. You fight for what's yours. I'd never let them execute you, is that what you fear? I would never let Ilyn Payne take your head. You're a _Lannister._ You're my son."

"I loved her," Tyrion said so softly it was almost inaudible.

"Who?"

"Shae," Tyrion said firmly.

"Oh, Tyrion. Put down that crossbow."

"Will you punish me if I refuse, Father?"

"It's still my intent to send you to the Wall, but I could not do it without Lord Tyrell's consent. Put down the crossbow and we will go back to my chambers and talk of it."

"We can talk in here just as well. Perhaps I don't choose to go to the Wall, Father. It's bloody cold up there, and I believe I've had enough coldness from you to last a lifetime. So just tell me something, and I'll be on my way. One simple question, you owe me that much."

"I owe you nothing."

"You've given me less than that, all my life, but you will give me this. What did you do to Tysha?"

"Tysha?"

_He does not even remember her name._

"The girl I married."

"Oh, yes. Your first whore."

Tyrion's eyes widened, and then he took aim at Tywin's chest, "The next time you say that word, I'll kill you."

"You do not have the courage."

"I do." Selene drew her dagger from its sheathe. "Shall we find out? It's a short word, Grandfather, and it seems to come so easily to your lips."

Tyrion gestured impatiently with the crossbow. "Tysha. What did you do with her, after your little lesson?"

"I don't recall."

"Try harder. Did you have her killed?"

Tywin pursed his lips, "There was no reason for that, she'd learned her place…and had been well paid for her day's work, I seem to recall. I suppose the steward sent her on her way. I never thought to inquire."

"On her way _where?_ "

"Wherever whores go."

Tyrion's finger clenched. The crossbow _whanged_ just as Lord Tywin started to rise. The bolt slammed into him above the groin and he sat back down with a grunt. The quarrel had sunk deep, right to the fletching. Blood seeped out around the shaft, dripping down over his bare thighs. "You shot me," he said incredulously, his eyes glassy with shock.

"You always were quick to grasp a situation, Grandfather," Selene said. "That must be why you're Hand of the King."

Tywin ignored her jape, eyes still on Tyrion, "You…you are no…no son of mine."

"Now that's where you're wrong, Father. Why, I believe I'm you writ small." Tyrion looked at Selene and gestured at Tywin, "Dear niece."

Selene curtsied, "Thank you, uncle." She looked back to where Tywin sat dying slowly and took several slow steps forward, spinning the dagger nonchalantly in her hand.

Tywin, for all his faults, did not look afraid. "There is…no one as accursed as a kinslayer."

"Perhaps," Selene mused, "but you killed my child." She smiled so wide it almost hurt, "A Lannister always pays her debts." And with that, she drew the dagger fiercely across his throat, so deep she felt bone.

The proof of Tywin's death was the sudden stench, as his bowels loosened in the moment of death. _Well, he was in the right place for it,_ Selene thought. But the stink that filled the privy gave ample evidence that the oft-repeated jape about Tywin was not true.

Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Hand of the King, did not, in the end, shit gold.


	43. I Speak of Dragons

Selene drank her way across the narrow sea.

The ship was small, their cabin smaller, but the captain would not let them above deck. The rocking of the floor made her stomach heave, and she wished beyond anything that she could breathe fresh ocean air. The wretched food they ate tasted worse coming back up than it did going down. But why did she need salt beef, hard cheese, and bread crawling with worms when she had wine to nourish her? It was red, sour, and very strong. Sometimes she heaved the wine up too, but there was always more.

"The world is full of wine," Tyrion had muttered once in the dankness of their cabin. "Father never had any use for drunkards, but what does that matter now? I killed him."

" _We_ killed him," Selene insisted, trying to take some of the blame off his shoulders, but he only grunted in response, and kept drinking.

Belowdecks, there was neither night nor day. Selene marked time by the comings and goings of the cabin boy who brought the meals. The boy always brought a brush and bucket too, to clean up. "Is this Dornish wine?" Selene asked him once, as he pulled a stopper from a skin. "It reminds me of a certain snake I know."

The cabin boy did not answer.

"He's ugly," Tyrion said to her once. "Though admittedly, more comely than a certain dwarf with a scar from eye to chin." He had looked to the boy. "Have I offended you? Were you commanded not to talk to us? Or did some dwarf diddle your mother?"

That went unanswered too.

Jaime had mentioned the Free Cities when they were escaping, but didn't say which one. "Where are we sailing?" Selene tried. "Tell us that."

"Is it Braavos?" Selene asked when the ugly boy did not answer. "Tyrosh? Myr?" She would sooner have gone to Dorne. _I could be with Myrcella._ It was an impossible hope, but Selene loved the thought too much to let it go.

The boy said nothing, which only provoked Tyrion.

"Have you ever been to the pleasure houses of Lys?" he inquired. "Might that be where whores go?" Ever since Tywin uttered those fateful words, Tyrion had been repeating them constantly, even in his sleep.

"Wherever whores go," her grandfather had said. _Some of his last words, and what words they were._ The crossbow _thrummed,_ Lord Tywin had sat down, and Selene Baratheon Stark found herself walking through the darkness with Varys and Tyrion by her side. She must have clambered back down the shaft, two hundred and thirty rungs. She remembered none of it. Only the sound her dagger had made on her grandfather's throat, and the stink of his corpse.

Varys had escorted them through tunnels, but they never spoke until they emerged beside the Blackwater, where Tyrion had won the Battle of the Blackwater. That was when her uncle turned to the eunuch and said, "I've killed my father," in the same tone a man might use to say, "I've stubbed my toe."

The master of whispers had been dressed as a begging brother, in a moth-eaten robe of brown roughspun with a cowl that shadowed his smooth fat cheeks and bald round head. "You two should not have climbed that ladder," he said reproachfully.

"I killed Shae too," Tyrion confessed to Varys.

"You knew what she was."

"I did. But I never knew what he was."

Varys tittered. "And now you do." He turned to Selene and glanced at the pelt around her shoulders, and then at her stomach.

"You finally got your vengeance."

"It wasn't vengeance," Selene had said. "It was justice."

Deck swaying underfoot, Selene drank more wine.

When she stirred again, her head felt like to burst and the ship was spinning round in dizzy circles, though the captain was insisting that they'd come to port. Selene told him to be quiet and kicked feebly as a huge bald sailor tucked her under one arm and carried her squirming to the hold, where a tall empty wine cask awaited her. Even with bent knees it was tight. Tyrion was thrust into a shorter, wider cask. She heard voices shout as she was hoisted up. Every bounce cracked her head against the lid of the cask. The world went round and round as the cask rolled downward, then stopped with a crash that made her want to scream. Another cask slammed into her, and Selene bit her tongue.

That was the longest journey she had ever taken, though it could not have lasted more than half an hour. She was lifted and lowered, rolled and stacked, upended and righted and rolled again. Through the wooden staves she heard men shouting, and once a horse whickered nearby. Soon, her legs were so cramped that she forgot the hammering in her head.

It ended as it had begun, with another roll that left her dizzy. Outside, strange voices were speaking in a tongue she did not know. Someone started pounding on the top of the cask and the lid cracked open. Light came flooding in, and cool air as well. Selene gasped greedily and tried to stand, but only managed to knock the casks over sideways and spill herself out onto the hard-packed earthen floor.

Above her loomed a grotesque fat man with a forked yellow beard, holding a wooden mallet and an iron chisel. His bedrobe was large enough to serve as a tourney pavilion, but its loosely knotted belt had come undone, exposing a huge white belly and a pair of heavy breasts that sagged like sacks.

The fat man looked down and smiled, "A drunk girl."

"A sea cow." Selene's mouth was full of blood. She spat it at his feet as Tyrion was released from his cask, groaning. They were in a long, dim cellar. Casks of wine and ale surrounded them. More than enough for Selene to be drunk for the rest of her life.

"You are insolent. I like that in a girl." When the fat man laughed, his flesh bounded so vigorously that Selene was afraid he might fall and crush her.

He turned to Tyrion, "Are you hungry, my little friend?"

"Thirsty," Tyrion struggled to his knees. "And filthy."

The fat man smiled, "A bath first, just so. Then food and a soft bed, yes? My servants shall see to it. My house is yours. Any friend of my friend across the water is a friend to Illyrio Mopatis, yes."

The fat man made good on the promised bath. No sooner did Selene lower herself into the hot water and close her eyes then she was fast asleep. She woke naked on a goose-down feather bed so soft it felt as if she had been swallowed by a cloud. She didn't even care how she got into the bed.

The room was dim, but there were bars of sunlight showing between the shutters. Selene walked over the patterned Myrish carpets as soft as new spring grass. Grabbing a sheer white robe that seemed to have been left for her, she flung the shutters open to see where Varys and the gods had sent her.

Beneath her window six cherry trees stood sentinel around a marble pool, their slender branches bare and brown. A naked boy stood on the water, positioned to duel with a bravo's blade in hand. He was lithe and handsome, no older than sixteen, with straight blond hair that brushed his shoulders. So lifelike did he seem that it took her a long moment to realize he was made of painted marble.

Across the pool stood a brick wall twelve feet high, with iron spikes along its top. Beyond that was the city. A sea of tiled rooftops crowded close around a bay. She saw square brick towers, a great red temple, and a distant manse upon a hill. In the far distance, sunlight shimmered off deep water. Fishing boats were moving across the bay, their sails rippling in the wind, and she could see the masts of larger ships poking up along the shore.

She wondered where she was. _Even the air smells different here._ Strange spices scented the chilly autumn wind, and she could hear faint cries drifting over the wall from the streets beyond. It sounded something like Valyrian, but she did not recognize any of the words.

When she heard the door open behind her, Selene turned to confront her fat host, "Is this Pentos?"

"Just so. Where else?"

 _Pentos._ Well, it was not King's Landing, that much could be said for it. She thought of some of Tywin's last words. "Have I gone where whores go?" she mused aloud.

"Whores are found in brothels here, as in Westeros. You will have no need of such, beautiful one. Choose from amongst my serving men. None will dare refuse you."

"Slaves?" Selene asked pointedly.

The fat man stroked one of the prongs of his oiled yellow beard, a gesture Selene found remarkably obscene. "Slavery is forbidden in Pentos, by the terms of the treaty the Braavosi imposed on us a hundred years ago. Still, they will not refuse you." Illyrio gave a ponderous half bow, "But now my beautiful one must excuse me. I have the honor to be a magister of this great city, and the prince has summoned us to session." He smiled, showing a mouth full of crooked yellow teeth. "Explore the manse and grounds as you like, but on no account stray beyond the walls. It is best that no man knows that you were here."

" _Were?_ Have I gone somewhere?"

"Time enough to speak of that this evening. My beautiful one and my little friend shall join me for supper and make great plans, yes?"

"Yes, my fat one," Selene replied. _He thinks to use me for his profit._ It was all profit with the merchant princes of the Free Cities. "Spice soldiers and cheese lords," her grandfather Tywin called them, with contempt. Should a day ever dawn when Illyrio Mopatis saw more profit in a dead princess than a live one, Selene would find herself with a dagger in her back. _It would be well if I was gone before that day arrived._ That it would arrive she did not doubt; Cersei was not like to forget Tyrion or her, and even Jaime might be vexed to find a quarrel in his father's belly.

Selene's things were in the room. Her lion's cloak was folded on the desk, beside it her winter dagger, Stormsbane, and the small crescent-shaped moonstone she had pried from her silver stag crown. _Everything I hold dear._ Selene searched and found clean clothes in a cedar chest inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The clothes had been made in a fashionable Myrish lace, and must have been commonplace, but by Westerosi standards they were completely immodest. Bright orange with a plunging neckline that went down to her navel, the dress pressed her breasts tight, and was nearly transparent. No doubt if she stood in direct sunlight, the entire city of Pentos would get a free show. Not that Selene was bothered. As her life as she knew it continued to deteriorate, modesty was something she was caring less and less about. _Perhaps I should be a courtesan. A pirate may be more fun, but dangerous. As a courtesan, I could be lounging in a manse eating fruits and chocolate for the rest of my life._ At least until she started to wrinkle.

Selene made sure to secure her winter dagger in her boot before she wandered through the gardens, wondering where Tyrion was. _The cellar, perhaps._ If only Selene could find it. The walls of the manse would have shamed a proper castle, and the ornamental iron spikes along the top looked strangely naked without heads to adorn them. Selene pictured her mother's head up there, with tar in her golden hair and flies buzzing in and around her mouth.

She didn't find Tyrion, but she did find a lovely patch of grass in the sun, surrounded by fragrant flowers. From here, the city of Pentos was spread out before her. Her heart began to quicken. _What am I doing? I'm so far from home._ Where was home? Yes, she grew up in the Red Keep, but she hadn't been safe there for years. She could hardly call Winterfell home, she had only been there twice. She had spent time in Riverrun, and roamed the riverlands, westerlands, stormlands… _Home was where I was loved. Robb was home._

But Robb was gone. Robb, the baby she never knew, her father, Ser Barristan, Eleni… They were all gone, and she was in Pentos. The absurdity of it all made Selene's head spin.

Wisps of hair kept flying into her eyes, blocking her vision. She brushed them aside impatiently, but then looked down at her curls. _Robb loved my hair._ Her hair's length marked her as nobility, but she supposed she wasn't anymore. _I'm in exile. I'm not a princess who can dance in expensive silks or be safe in her tower. I'm hiding in Essos in disgrace, and I will probably have to live by my sword. I don't deserve my hair._

Without another thought, she reached for the dagger in her boot. The same dagger that had pierced the throat of Tywin Lannister. The same dagger that had once been forged by Robb Stark to crown her queen.

Selene gathered her hair at the base of her neck and slid her dagger across. Such a small movement, but her hair spilled from her grip. It was as if a great pressure was lifted from her chest.

She curled up in the sun and shut her eyes.

When she woke again, she was back in her bedchamber, drowning in the goose-feather bed once more while a blond boy shook her shoulder. "My lady," he said, "your bath awaits. Magister Illyrio expects you and the dwarf at the table within the hour."

Selene propped herself against the pillows, "Do I dream, or do you speak the Common Tongue?"

"Yes, my lady. I was bought to please Westerosi." He was blue-eyed and fair, young and willowy in a way that reminded her of Ser Loras Tyrell.

"I am sure you were. I need a cup of wine." She was growing near as bad as Tyrion with drink.

He poured for her, "Magister Illyrio said that I am to scrub your back and warm your bed. My name-"

"-is of no interest to me. I will tell you nothing. Do me the same favor. You mentioned a bath?"

As she bathed, the boy washed her feet, scrubbed her back and brushed her hair. After saying something about it being uneven, the boy worked on her hair with a small blade. Afterward he rubbed sweet-smelling ointment into her calves to ease the aches, and dressed her in more suggestive attire, a bright wispy blue dress that fell to the floor at the back, but stopped short of her knees in the front. Selene watched in silence as the boy's fingers moved deftly over her. No doubt this wasn't the first time he dressed a lady. The whole ritual was oddly sensual.

"Will my lady want me after she has eaten?" he asked nonchalantly as he laced up her sandals.

 _I could if I wanted to._ Did she want to? The thought was more exciting than it should have been. "Do you want me?" she asked the whore, her heart beating a little faster at the thought.

The boy frowned, "I'm sorry, my lady. I don't understand."

"Do. You. Want. Me?"

The boy thought for a moment. "What I want doesn't matter."

Selene sighed, "It does for me. No, I don't want you."

Illyrio was reclining on a padded couch, gobbling hot peppers and pearl onions from a wooden bowl. His brow was dotted with beads of sweat, his pig's eyes shining above his fat cheeks. Jewels danced when he moved his hands; onyx and opal, tiger's eyes and green pearl. _I could live for years on his rings,_ Selene mused, _though I'd need a cleaver to claim them._

"Come sit, beautiful one," Illyrio waved her closer. Once she stepped into the light, he narrowed his eyes, "You've changed your hair."

Selene clambered up onto chair. It was too big for her, a cushioned throne intended to accommodate the magister.

Tyrion was sitting on a similar chair nearby, but he looked ridiculous in the lavish grotesque dimensions made for their whale of a host.

Seeing her look of amusement, Tyrion said, "I am a mouse in a mammoth's lair. Though, at least the mammoth keeps a good cellar." Selene laughed as he called for more wine. Tyrion's eyes fell to her shoulders, "It suits you."

Selene smiled, though she felt rather naked without her blanket of hair around her. Without weight to hold them down, her black curls were tighter, and they bounced when she walked, kissing the tips of her shoulders.

"Did you enjoy the whores I sent you?" Illyrio asked.

"If I wanted a girl I would have asked for one," Tyrion replied.

"If she failed to please…"

"She did all that was required of her," Tyrion answered, before realizing that Illyrio had said _whores._ He turned inquisitively toward his niece, "How was yours?"

Selene rolled her eyes, "Uneventful."

"I would hope not," their host said. "They were trained in Lys, where they make an art of love. Many have enjoyed them greatly."

"I want no leavings," Tyrion said.

"As you wish. Let us eat." Illyrio clapped his hands together, and serving men came running.

The sight of all the rich food made Selene feel queasy, but she forced herself to try spoonfuls for the sake of politeness. She had never eaten so well, not even at court.

As she was sucking the meat off the bones of her quail, Tyrion asked Illyrio about the morning's summons. The fat man shrugged, "There are troubles in the east. Astapor has fallen, and Meereen. Ghiscari slave cities that were old when the world was young." The suckling pig was carved. Illyrio reached for a piece of the crackling, dipping it in a plum sauce.

"Slaver's Bay is a long way from Pentos," Selene remarked.

"This is so," Illyrio agreed, "but the world is one great web, and a man dare not touch a single strange lest all the others tremble. More wine?" He popped a pepper into his mouth. "No, something better." He clapped his hands together.

At the sound a serving man entered with a covered dish. He placed it in front of Selene, and Illyrio reached across to remove the lid. "Mushrooms," the magister announced as the smell wafted up. "Kissed with garlic and bathed in butter. I am told the taste is exquisite. Have some, beautiful one. Have many."

Selene had a fat black mushroom halfway to her mouth when Tyrion spoke.

"Wait!" His eyes flitted back from Selene to Illyrio, and she could almost see the cogs turning in his brain. After a moment, Tyrion pushed the dish back to their host, "After you, my lord."

"No, no." Magister Illyrio pushed the mushrooms back. For a heartbeat it seemed as if a mischievous boy was peering out from inside the cheesemonger's bloated flesh. "After my guests. I insist. Cook made them especially for you."

"Did he indeed?" Tyrion mused. "That was kind of him, but…no." Tyrion reached over, grabbed the mushroom from Selene's hand, and eased it back into the lake of butter.

"You are too suspicious." Illyrio smiled through his forked beard. "Are you craven? I had not heard that of you."

"In the Seven Kingdoms it is considered a grave breach of hospitality to poison your guests at supper," Tyrion said coolly.

" _Poison?_ " Selene repeated, shocked. _He's hiding us, why on earth would he kill us?_

"Here as well," Illyrio reached for his wine, "yet when a guest plainly wishes to end his own life, a host must oblige him, no?"

Selene turned to Tyrion, "What is he talking about?"

Tyrion looked at his hands, "I may have picked some poisonous mushrooms from the grounds today."

"Why?" Selene's voice was icy.

"Pick a reason," Tyrion answered back. He turned to their host, "You mistake me, magister."

"Is it so? I wonder. If you both would rather drown in wine, say the word and it shall be done, and quickly. Drowning cup by cup wastes more time and wine both."

"You mistake me," Tyrion said again, more loudly. "I have no wish to die, I promise you, I have…" His voice trailed off into uncertainty. Selene could understand why. _What does he have? What do_ I _have? A life to live? Work to do? Children to raise, land to rule, a man to love?_

"You have nothing," finished Magister Illyrio, "but we can change that. We must show a little trust, you and I. We have work to do, my foreign friends."

As Tyrion and Selene continued to empty wine goblet after wine goblet, Illyrio looked irate.

"You drink a deal of wine for such a little man," he said to Tyrion.

"Kinslaying is dry work. It gives a man a thirst."

The fat man's eyes glittered like the gemstones on his fingers. "There are those in Westeros who would say that killing Lord Lannister was merely a good beginning."

"They had best not say it in my mother's hearing, or they will find themselves short a tongue." Selene tore a loaf of bread in half. "And you had best be careful what you say of my family, magister. Kinslayer or no, my uncle is a lion still and I am a stag by blood and a wolf by marriage."

That seemed to amuse the lord of cheese to no end. He slapped a meaty thigh and said, "You Westerosi are all the same. You sew some beast upon a scrap of silk, and suddenly you are lions or dragons or wolves. I can take you to a real lion, beautiful one. The prince keeps a pride in his menagerie. Would you like to share a cage with them?"

The lords of the Seven Kingdoms did make rather much of their sigils, Selene had to admit. She remembered what she had told Olenna Tyrell so recently after she had lost Robb. ' _We're people, not gods',_ Selene had told the Queen of Thorns in her grief. ' _I'm just a girl'_. _And yet when threatened I call myself stag and wolf._ Selene supposed she, like the other nobles of Westeros, needed to cling to her heraldry. _The world is a terrifying place,_ Selene thought. _P_ _eople are weak, but stags, lions, wolves…those beasts are fearsome and ruthless...and I must be so as well. That, or die._

"Very well," Tyrion conceded. "A Lannister is not a lion. Yet I am still my father's son, and Cersei is mine to kill."

"How odd that you should mention your fair sister," said Illyrio. "The queen has offered a lordship to the man who brings her your head, no matter how humble his birth."

It was no more than Selene had expected. Tyrion was taking it rather well.

"If you mean to take her up on it, make her spread her legs for you as well. The best part of me for the best part of her, that's a fair trade."

"I would sooner have mine own weight in gold," the cheesemonger laughed so hard that Selene feared he was about to rupture. "All the gold in Casterly Rock, why not?"

"The gold I grant you," Tyrion said, looking relieved that he was not about to be executed, "but the Rock is mine."

"Just so," the magister covered he mouth and belched. "Do you think King Stannis will give it to you? I am told he is a great one for the law. Your brother wears the white cloak, so you are heir by all the laws of Westeros."

" _King Stannis?_ " Selene repeated incredulously. With everything that had happened, she had forgotten her uncle, made half-mad with his red priestess whispering in his ear.

Tyrion cast Selene a wary glance, but fixed his eyes on Illyrio, "Stannis might well grant me the Rock, but for the small matter of regicide and kinslaying, he would shorten me by a head, and I am short enough already. Why would you think I mean to join Lord Stannis?"

"Why else would you consider going to the Wall?"

"Stannis is at the Wall?" Selene rubbed her eyes. "What in seven bloody hells is Stannis doing at the Wall?"

"Shivering, I would think. It is warmer down in Dorne. Perhaps he should have sailed that way."

"My sister is in Dorne, as it happens."

Illyrio smiled, "Go to Dorne, and you would bring her only death. What has that poor child done to you that you would wish her dead?"

"Even a kinslayer is not required to slay _all_ her kin," said Selene, wounded. "She's my little sister."

The cheesemonger spooned up his cherries. "In Volantis they use a coin with a crown on one face and a skeleton skull on the other. Yet it is the same coin. To visit her is to kill her. If you both are as clever as our friend insists, you must know this."

Selene looked at the fat man with new interest. _He is right._ "Futile gestures are all that remain to me. This one would make my mother weep bitter tears, at least."

Illyrio wiped sweet cream from his mouth with the back of his fat hand. "The road to Casterly Rock does not go through Dorne, my friends. Nor does it run beneath the Wall. Yet there is such a road, I tell you."

"I am an attainted traitor, regicide, and kinslayer." This talk of roads seemed to annoy Tyrion.

"What one king does, another may undo. In Pentos we have a prince. He lives in luxury, deflowering maidens and wearing priceless jewels." Illyrio leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Yet should a crop fail or a war be lost, we cut his throat to appease the gods and choose a new prince from amongst forty families."

"Remind me never to become Prince of Pentos," Tyrion jested.

"Are your Seven Kingdoms so different? There is no peace in Westeros, no justice, no faith…and soon enough, no food." Illyrio gave Selene an appraising look, "And all because of your father."

That took Selene aback, "My _father?_ " Her initial shock burned into anger. "You're a Pentoshi merchant. What do _you_ know about my father?"

"I, and a small group of others, saw Robert Baratheon for the disaster he was. We tried to do what was best for Westeros by supporting a Targaryen restoration."

Selene stood, hand around her dinner knife.

She was suddenly aware of Illyrio's guards at the door. She heard them draw their blades, but her eyes stayed on her host.

Illyrio Mopatis looked at her pitifully. If anything, that made her angrier. He sighed, "And thus began the chain of mistakes that has led us all here. Things have gotten worse, not better. Westeros needs to be saved from itself."

"I tried."

"And failed."

For some strange reason, it took Illyrio Mopatis, a cheesemonger from Pentos, to tell Selene she failed for her to finally believe it. Ever since her father died, she did nothing but fight. And now, after suffering more grief and pain than anyone her age had a right to, it finally hit her.

Selene sunk into her chair, the dinner knife clattering to the floor. Tyrion slid her a glass of wine and she drained the cup, feeling it flood her throat like fire.

"There are faster ways to kill yourself," Illyrio said.

Selene thought of the time she nearly did. She glanced at Tyrion, his eyes wide. Selene stared at the glass. "Not for a coward."

"If what I hear about you is true, beautiful one, than you are many things, but not a coward."

Tyrion tore his eyes from his niece to stare at their host, "You never said why you were helping us."

Illyrio straightened, "My friend Varys asked me to."

"You could have said no," Tyrion mused.

"And refuse the Master of Whispers?" Illyrio tittered. "A dangerous proposition."

"Not as dangerous as sheltering us," Tyrion countered. "You risk your life, your wealth, everything…why? You're not family. You owe us nothing."

Illyrio sighed, "I did not do it for you. I did it for me. I want all the gold in Casterly Rock." He swirled his glass around. "Perhaps I did it for the Seven Kingdoms…"

"A drunken dwarf will never be the savior of the Seven Kingdoms."

"I don't believe in saviors, my little friend," Illyrio retorted. "Neither does Varys. We believe men of talent have a part to play in the war to come."

Selene looked up, "Varys told me the same."

The magister nodded.

"Find another soldier," Tyrion said. "I'm done with Westeros."

"I hear you have many admirable qualities, but Varys failed to mention self-pity. Any fool with a bit of luck can find himself born into power. But earning it for yourself? That takes work."

"I'm not well suited for work."

Then it dawned on Selene. She sighed, closing her eyes.

"What?" Tyrion asked guardedly.

"I told Varys you were a good Hand," she looked at him apologetically. "I was trying to save your life. It seems I was more persuasive than I realized. You have Tywin's knack for politics, and you have compassion."

That made his mouth twist, "Compassion, yes. I killed my lover with my bare hands. I shot my own father with a crossbow."

Selene blinked, "I never said you were perfect."

"What is it Varys wants, exactly?" Tyrion asked, turning back to their host.

"Peace. Prosperity. A land where the powerful do not prey on the powerless."

That made Selene laugh, "Where the houses are made of gingerbread and the rivers run red with wine. The powerful have always preyed on the powerless. That's how they became powerful in the first place."

Illyrio shrugged, "Perhaps. And perhaps we've grown so used to horror, we assume there's no other way. If _you_ sat on the Iron Throne, beautiful one, would you spread blood and misery?"

Selene stared into the glittering eyes of the Pentoshi magister, and she never felt farther from home. "I will never sit on the Iron Throne."

"No, you won't, but you could help someone climb those steps and take that seat. The Seven Kingdoms need someone stronger than Tommen, but gentler than Stannis. A monarch who can intimidate the high lords and inspire the people. A ruler loved by millions with a powerful army and the right family name."

"Fine words," Selene was unimpressed. "Words are wind. Who is he?"

"Who said anything about _he?"_ The cheesemonger saw the look on her face at that, and laughed, "I speak of dragons."

###

"You have a death wish," Selene told Tyrion for the thousandth time.

They had departed Pentos through the Sunrise Gate, though Selene Baratheon Stark never glimpsed the sunrise. "It will be as if you had never been to Pentos, my foreign friends," Illyrio said as their large litter swung.

Selene leaned back in her chair, scoffed, and said, "She's going to kill us."

"Forgive my niece," Tyrion said to Illyrio. "She's six-and-ten, you remember what that's like. All misery and impertinence." Tyrion turned back to Selene, "I don't see _you_ coming up with any other ideas," he retorted. When Selene straightened to argue, Tyrion cut her off, "and _don't_ repeat that stupid pirate plan of yours. Or the _courtesan_ one. They're ridiculous."

Selene sunk lower in her seat.

"Just," Tyrion tried, "read Varys' letter again."

Selene twisted her lip, but looked down at the page Varys had sent soon after their departure.

_Princess Selene,_

_I tried to warn you to stay in Westeros, but you are your father's daughter, no sane man can deny it._

_I suppose I have you to thank for the idea of bringing our friend Tyrion to Queen Daenerys. You're quite right. He was a great Hand. Our queen is going to need brilliant men around her if she's going to reclaim her birthright. And no one around her knows Westeros like Tyrion._

_Do_ try _not to sulk. You must be upset now that you know of my allegiance. In truth, my allegiance is not to a family, but to the realm. I have tried to serve your father and his son after him…but the realm still bleeds. The dragon queen is what the Seven Kingdom's needs if it's to survive._

_If you're wondering why you should assist the Mad King's daughter, think of Storm's End. Stannis will never bend his knee for anyone, especially not a Targaryen. With Renly gone, you are the heir to Storm's End. You could be its Lady, perhaps even have a family of your own one day. If you think I'm sending the dragon queen a kinslaying dwarf and a traitorous princess, think again. I'm sending her rightful heirs to Casterly Rock and Storm's End._

_Try to keep an open mind when you meet Daenerys. Like I told you before, if circumstances were different, you would have likely been her lady-in-waiting. She is, after all, your kin. And you both have more in common than you think. If she is the queen I hope she is, she will pardon you for your father's crimes against her family. She knows a daughter is not responsible for the sins of her father. Perhaps you would do well to remember the same._

Selene glared at Illyrio, "So you expect me to conspire with a foreign queen to depose my own brother."

Illyrio waved his hand dismissively, "There is no need for your brother to be killed. He is a bastard with no claim to the throne, and a child. Once Queen Daenerys sits her throne, he can live his life in peace."

Tyrion sighed, growing impatient. "How many days until we reach the river?" he asked. "At this pace, your queen's dragons will be larger than Aegon's three before I can lay eyes on them."

"Would it were so. A large dragon is more fearsome than a small one." The magister shrugged, "Much as it would please me to welcome Queen Daenerys to Volantis, I must rely on you both and Griff for that. I can serve her best in Pentos, smoothing the way for her return. Come, drink a cup of wine."

"Tell me," Tyrion said as he drank, "why should a magister in Pentos give a fig about who wears the crown in Westeros? What do you gain?"

The fat man dabbed grease from his lips, "I am an old man, grown weary of this world and its treacheries. Is it so strange that I should wish to do some good before my days are done, to help a sweet young girl regain her rights?"

"If she is no more than a sweet young girl, the Iron Throne will cut her into sweet young pieces," Selene said.

"Fear not, beautiful one. The blood of Aegon the Dragon flows in her veins."

 _Along with the blood of Aegon the Unworthy, Maegor the Cruel, and Baelor the Befiddled._ "Tell me more of her."

The fat man grew pensive. "Daenerys was half a child when she came to me, yet fairer even than my second wife, so lovely I was tempted to claim her for myself. Such a fearful, furtive thing, however, I knew I should get no joy from coupling with her. Instead, I summoned a bedwarmer and fucked her vigorously until the madness passed. If truth be told, I did not think she would survive for long among the horselords."

"That did not stop you selling her to Khal Drogo…" Tyrion pointed out.

"Dothraki neither buy nor sell. Say rather that her brother Viserys gave her to Drogo to win the khal's friendship. A vain young man, and greedy. Viserys lusted for his father's throne, but he lusted for Daenerys too, and was loath to give her up. The night before the princess wed he tried to steal into her bed, insisting that if he could not have her hand, he would claim her maidenhead. Had I not taken the precaution of posting guards upon her door, Viserys might have undone years of planning."

"He sounds an utter fool," Selene said.

"Viserys was Mad Aerys's son, just so. Daenerys…Daenerys is quite different." He popped a roasted lark into his mouth and crunched it noisily, "The frightened child who sheltered in my manse died on the Dothraki Sea, and was reborn in blood and fire. This dragon queen who wears her name is a true Targaryen. When I sent ships to bring her home, she turned toward Slaver's Bay. In a short span of days she conquered Astapor, made Yunkai bend the knee, and sacked Meereen. Mantarys will be next, if she marches west along the old Valyrian roads. If she comes by sea, well….her fleet must take on food and water at Volantis."

"By land or sea, there are long leagues between Meereen and Volantis," Tyrion observed.

"Five hundred fifty as the dragon flied, through deserts, mountains, swamps, and demon-haunted ruins. Many and more will perish, but those who survive will be stronger by the time they reach Volantis…where they shall find you and Griff awaiting them, with fresh forces and sufficient ships to carry them all across the sea to Westeros."

Selene thought of all she knew of Volantis, the proudest and most ancient of the Nine Free Cities. "It's said there are five slaves for every free man in Volantis. Why would the triarchs assist a queen who smashed the slave trade?" She pointed at Illyrio, "For that matter, why would you? Slavery may be forbidden by the laws of Pentos, yet you have a finger in that trade as well, maybe a whole hand. And yet you conspire for the dragon queen, not against her. Why? What do you hope to gain from Danaerys?"

"Are we back at that again? You are persistent, you Westerosi." Illyrio gave a laugh and slapped his belly, "As you will. The Beggar King swore that I should be his master of coin, and a lordly lord as well. Once he wore his golden crown, I should have my choice of castles…even Casterly Rock, if I desired."

Tyrion snorted wine, "My father would have loved to hear that."

"Your lord father had no cause for concern. Why would I want a rock? My manse is large enough for any man, and more comfortable that your drafty Westerosi castles. Master of coin, though…I am fond of coins. Is there any sound as sweet as the clink of gold on gold?"

 _A lover's sighs._ "Are you quite certain she will make good her brother's promises?"

"She will, or she will not." Illyrio peeled an egg. "I told you, not all that a man does is done for gain. Believe as you wish, but even fat old fools like me have friends, and debts of affection to repay."

 _Liar,_ thought Selene. _There is something in this venture worth more to you than coin or castles._ "You meet so few men who value friendship over gold these days."

"Too true," the fat man said, deaf to irony.

"How is it that the Spider became so dear to you?"

"We were young together, two green boys in Pentos."

"Varys came from Myr," Tyrion said.

"So he did. I met him not long after he arrived, one step ahead of the slavers. By day he slept in the sewers, by night he prowled the rooftops like a cat. I was near as poor, living by my blade. In Myr he was a prince of thieves, until a rival thief informed on him. In Pentos his accent marked him, and once he was known for a eunuch he was despised and beaten. Why he chose me to protect him I may never know, but we came to an arrangement. Varys spied on lesser thieves and took their takings. I offered my help to the victims, promising to recover their valuables for a fee. Soon every man who had suffered loss knew to come to me, whilst city footpads and cutpurses sought out Varys…half to slit his throat, the other half to sell him what they'd stolen. We both grew rich, and richer still when Varys trained his mice."

"In King's Landing he kept little birds," said Tyrion.

"Mice, we called them then. The older thieves were fools who thought no further than turning a night's plunder into wine. Varys preferred orphan boys and young girls. He chose the smallest, the ones who were quick and quiet, and taught them to climb walls and slip down chimneys. He taught them to read as well. We left the gold and gems for common thieves. Instead our mice stole letters, ledgers, charts…later they would read them and leave them where they lay. _Secrets are worth more than silver or sapphires,_ Varys claimed. Just so. I grew so respectable that a cousin of the Prince of Pentos let me wed his maiden daughter, whilst whispers of a certain eunuch's talents crossed the narrow sea and reached the ears of a certain king. A very _anxious_ king, who did not wholly trust his son, nor his wife, nor his Hand, a friend of his youth who had grown arrogant and overproud. I do believe that you know the rest of this tale, is that not so?"

"Much of it," Selene admitted. "I see that you are somewhat more than a cheesemonger after all."

Illyrio inclined his head, "You are kind to say so, beautiful one. And for my part, I see that you are just as quick as Lord Varys claimed." He smiled, showing all his crooked yellow teeth, and shouted for another jar of wine.

When the magister and Tyrion both drifted off into sleep, Selene reached for the wine jar and poured herself a cup. She drained it, yawned, then filled it up once again. _If I drink enough fire wine, perhaps I'll dream of dragons._

When she was a child, she often rode dragons through the nights, pretending she was more Targaryen than she was, or a Valyrian dragonlady soaring high over fields and mountains. She never told her father, who purpled at the mention of his dragon cousins, but Selene would read of them by candlelight, marveling. She especially loved reading about Rhaelle, her paternal great-grandmother, and Nettles, a foul-mouth dragonseed from the Dance. When she first found the dragon skulls and realized the dragons were all gone, she had cried herself to sleep for weeks at the unfairness. She felt her eyes close now, listening to the gentle sway of the litter, but her heart heard the beat of leather wings.

Selene woke to find Tyrion and Illyrio already drinking and eating blueberries with cream.

"I dreamed of Daenerys," Selene said in a sleepy voice. "I dreamed I was before her, but she mistook me for my father and fed me to her dragons."

"Let us hope this dream is not prophetic. You are a clever girl, and the dragon queen will have need of clever people around her. You both did Her Grace a great favor when you slew Lord Tywin and it is my hope that you will do her many more. Daenerys is not the fool her brother was. She will make good use of you."

 _As kindling?_ Selene thought, smiling pleasantly.

"At Volantis, you will have fresh news of Daenerys, we must hope," Illyrio continued. "Dragons and young girls are both impulsive, and it may be that you have to adjust your plans. Griff will know what to do. Will you have a snail? The garlic is from my own gardens."

 _I could ride a snail and make a better pace than this litter of yours._ Selene waved the dish away. "You place a great deal of trust in this man. Another friend of yours from childhood?"

"No. A sellsword, you would call him, but Westerosi born. Daenerys needs men worthy of her cause." Illyrio raised a hand, "I know! ' _Sellswords put gold before honor,'_ you are thinking. Not so. I trust Griff as I would trust a brother."

 _Another mortal error._ "Then we shall do likewise."

Tyrion looked out the litter, "How far have we come?"

"This is Andalos, my friend. The land your Andals came from. They took it from the hairy men who were here before them, cousins to the hairy men of Ib. The heart of Hugor's ancient realm lies north of us, but we are passing through its southern marches. In Pentos, these are called the Flatlands. Farther east stand the Velvet Hills, where we are bound."

 _Andalos._ The Faith taught that the Seven themselves had once walked the hills of Andalos in human form. "The Father reached his hand into the heavens and pulled down seven stars," Tyrion reflected aloud, "and one by one he set them on the brow of Hugor of the Hill to make a glowing crown."

Magister Illyrio gave him a curious look, "I did not dream my little friend was so devout."

Tyrion shrugged, "A relic of my boyhood. I knew I would not make a knight, so I decided to be High Septon. That crystal crown adds a foot to a man's height. I studied the holy books and prayed until I had scabs on my knees, but my quest came to a tragic end. I reached a certain age and fell in love."

"A maiden? I know that way of that," Illyrio said wistfully. He glanced at Selene, "And you, beautiful one? Did you love your wolf king?"

Selene looked out of the litter. After a long moment, she said, "Yes, I did."

"You must love again," Illyrio said. "It would be such a waste if you spent the rest of your life alone. Griff has a son he dotes on who is about your age. Young Griff, he is called. There was never a nobler lad. "

Selene grimaced, but Tyrion found the thought of Illyrio being a matchmaker too hilarious to dismiss. "Perhaps my dear niece and this noble young lad could spend some alone time together on our journey?" he said with a wide grin and a voice laced with poisoned sweetness.

"Perhaps, perhaps," Illyrio mused.

Selene desperately wanted to change the subject, so she just turned to the window and drifted off to sleep, letting Illyrio and Tyrion make their jests. _Will I spend the rest of my life alone?_ She had loved Robb with everything she had, but she remembered the quickening of her heart when the blond bedwarmer in Pentos dressed her. _That's not love, that's desire._ She found her fingers going to her new necklace. Illyrio had put the moonstone on a slim silver chain, so now it almost looked like an exact copy of the one Jon wore at the Wall. Perhaps he had taken it off, for her stone was cold and quiet. _I wonder what Jon is doing now..._ she thought, drifting off to sleep and dreaming of dragon queens and ice and snow.


	44. Young Griff and Joanna

Selene watched as Jon prowled around the pretty raven-haired boy, sword in hand. "Get your shield up," he said.

"It's too heavy," the boy complained.

"It's as heavy as it needs to be to stop a sword," Jon said. "Now, get it up." He stepped forward, slashing. The boy jerked the shield up in time to catch the sword on the rim, and swung his own blade at Jon's ribs. "Good, Satin," Jon said, a small proud smile on his lips. "That was good, but you need to put your body into it. Get your weight behind the steel and you'll do more damage than with arm strength alone. Come, try it again, drive at me, but keep the shield up or I'll ring your head like a bell…"

Instead, Satin took a step backward and raised his visor. "Jon," he said in an anxious voice.

Jon turned, and Selene did too, following their gaze. When her eyes landed on Melisandre, she gasped. _So Stannis truly is at the Wall._

Jon looked wary, but said, "My lady."

"The king would speak with you, Jon Snow."

Jon thrust his practice sword into the earth. "Might I be allowed to change? I am in no fit state to stand before a king."

"We shall await you atop the Wall," said Melisandre. _We,_ Selene thought bitterly, _not he. She's just as much his puppetmaster as before._

As Jon put on a fresh pair of blacks, Selene's mind was whirling. _Last I saw, Castle Black was awash in flame. Now…_ Jon slung his sword over his shoulder and went to find Melisandre, who was waiting for him at the base of the Wall. "What does His Grace want of me?" Jon asked her as they entered the cage.

"All you have to give, Jon Snow. He is a king."

Jon shut the door and pulled the cord. A wheel began to turn, and they were pulled up. The two of them were facing the south, but Selene stood before them, leaning on the cage. The Wall rushed behind them as Selene stared at the most unlikely duo in Westeros. _If you were to tell me years ago that Jon and Melisandre would ever meet, I would have laughed._

"The Night's Watch takes no part in the wars of men, my lady," Jon said politely, "but if I remember correctly, Robert Baratheon has a trueborn daughter."

Selene could have kissed him for that.

Melisandre didn't blink, "Lady Selene had grand delusions, nothing more."

"Queen Selene married the King in the North," Jon countered, "and-"

"-and now one is dead and the other is in exile," Melisandre finished. "Stannis is the Lord's chosen."

Jon glanced at her, "Your god speaks to you in the flames?"

"He does."

Jon tried, and failed, to hide his skepticism.

"Do not mock me, Jon Snow," Melisandre said, almost in play. "The Lord of Light gives me sight. There are certain things I have seen that can't be explained by man."

Jon's eyes went down to his chest, and then he glanced away. _He glanced at my necklace, hidden beneath his furs._

Melisandre smiled knowingly, "You are no stranger to the Lord's work, Jon Snow." Her eyes flickered up, and for half a heartbeat, Melisandre met Selene's eyes.

Selene's breath hitched in her throat. It was the first time in a vision that she believed someone truly saw her. But before she could start panicking, Melisandre's eyes flitted away.

They found Stannis Baratheon standing alone at the edge of the Wall, brooding over the fields. He was dressed in the same black breeches, tunic, and boots that a brother of the Night's Watch might wear. Only his cloak set him apart, a heavy golden cloak trimmed in black fur. For a moment, Selene's spirit lifted at the sight of Baratheon colors, but it died when she saw that the cloak was pinned with a brooch in the shape of a flaming heart.

Selene felt a sudden urge to strangle him. _He killed Renly._ It was his priestess's magic, but it was on his orders, of that Selene had no doubt. _This war could have ended quickly_ _if I had the full support of the stormlands and Reach,_ she thought angrily. But Stannis had cut her stormland supporters in half, and drove the Tyrells into Lannister arms. _If it wasn't for Stannis, perhaps I would be in King's Landing right now, surrounded by Robb, Renly, Ser Barristan, Eleni, and my son._ That thought made her murderous.

And yet when she saw how pale and sickly her uncle looked, like a man on the verge of pure exhaustion, she couldn't hate him the way she wanted to. This was her father's brother. _He's been driven mad by the fire priestess. She's the one to blame._

"I have brought you the Bastard of Winterfell, Your Grace," said Melisandre.

Stannis turned to study Jon, but Selene studied her uncle. Beneath his heavy brow were her own eyes, like bottomless blue pools. That was where the resemblance ended. His hollow cheeks and strong jaw were covered with a short-cropped blue-black beard that did little to conceal the gauntness of his face, and his teeth were clenched. His neck and shoulders were clenched as well, and his right hand. Selene found herself remembering something that Ser Barristan told her years ago. _Your father is true steel. Stannis is pure iron, black and hard, and strong, but brittle, the way iron gets. He will break before he bends._

Uneasily, Jon knelt.

"Rise. I have heard much and more of you, Lord Snow."

"I am no lord, sire," Jon rose. "I know what you have heard. That I am a turncloak, and craven. That I slew my brother Qhorin Halfhand so the wildlings would spare my life. That I rode with Mance Rayder, and took a wildling to wife."

 _Well, the last part was certainly true,_ said a dark voice in the back of Selene's mind that she wasn't particularly proud of.

"Aye. All that, and more. You are a warg too, they say, a skinchanger who walks at night as a wolf." Stannis had a hard smile, "How much of it is true?"

"I had a direwolf, Ghost. I left him when I climbed the Wall near Greyguard, and have not seen him since."

Selene's heart broke a little at that.

Jon continued, "Qhorin Halfhand commanded me to join the wildlings. He knew they would make me kill him to prove myself, and told me to do whatever they asked of me. The woman was named Ygritte. I broke my vows with her, but I swear to you on my father's name that I never turned my cloak."

"I believe you," Stannis said.

Jon looked startled, "Why?"

Stannis snorted, "I know Janos Slynt. And I knew Ned Stark as well. Your father was no friend of mine, but only a fool would doubt his honor or his honesty. You have his look."

Selene forgot that Tyrion had sent Janos Slynt to the Wall. She ran to the south side of the Wall, as if perhaps able to kill him with a look.

"I know more than you think," Stannis told Jon. "I know it was you who held the gate long enough for me to arrive."

"Donal Noye held the gate. He died below in the tunnels, fighting the king of giants."

Selene's head was spinning. _Giants?_

Stannis grimaced, "Noye made my first sword for me, and Robert's warhammer as well. Had god seen fit to spare him, he would have made a better Lord Commander than the fools who are squabbling over it now."

"They're good men, and capable," Jon said defensively. "Lord Mormont trusted them."

"Your Lord Mormont trusted too easily. Else he would not have died as he did."

Selene bit her lip, remembering how kind the Old Bear had been. Gruff, yes, but in a grandfatherly way. Not that Selene truly knew what loving grandfathers were like. If she had to hazard a guess, she would have supposed they looked like Lord Commander Mormont.

"But we were speaking of you," Stannis continued. "I have not forgotten that it was you who captured Mance Rayder's wife and son."

"Dalla died," Jon said, looking sad. "Val is her sister. She and the babe did not require much capturing, Your Grace." Jon straightened, as if remembering something, "Val has asked to see Mance Rayder, to bring his son to him. It would be a…a kindness."

"That man is a deserter from your order. Your brothers are all insisting on his death. Why should I do him a kindness?"

Jon struggled to find an answer, "If not for him, for Val. For her sister's sake, the child's mother."

"You are fond of this Val?"

"I scarcely know her."

"They tell me she is comely."

"Very," Jon admitted.

"Beauty can be treacherous. My brother learned that lesson from Cersei Lannister. She murdered him, do not doubt it. Your father and Jon Arryn as well." He scowled, "People only care about beauty. That's why they flocked to my brother and niece. They had nothing but charm, and with that they claimed the throne."

Jon's jaw locked, but he held his tongue.

"You rode with these wildlings. Is there any honor to them, do you think?"

"Yes," Jon said, "but their own sort of honor, sire."

"In Mance Rayder?"

"Yes, I think so."

"And the other man, this Tormund of the many names who eluded us after the battle? Answer me truly."

"Tormund Giantsbane seemed to me the sort of man who would make a good friend and a bad enemy, Your Grace."

Stannis gave a curt nod, "Your father was a man of honor. He was no friend to me, but I saw his worth. Your brother was a rebel and a traitor who meant to steal half my kingdom and used my niece to lay claim to the other, but no man can question his courage. What of you?"

Jon did not look too pleased with the way Stannis spoke about his family. "I am a man of the Night's Watch," he said in a stiff voice.

"Words. Words are wind. Why do you think I abandoned Dragonstone and sailed to the Wall, Lord Snow?"

"I am no lord, sire. You came because we sent for you, I hope. Though I could not say why you took so long about it."

Surprisingly, Stannis smiled at that. "You're bold enough to be a Stark. Yes, I should have come sooner. If not for my Hand, I might not have come at all. Lord Seaworth is a man of humble birth, but he reminded me of my duty, when all I could think of was my rights. I had the cart before the horse, Davos said. I was trying to win the throne to save the kingdom, when I should have been trying to save the kingdom to win the throne." Stannis pointed north. "This is where I'll find the foe that I was born to fight."

"His name may not be spoken," Melisandre added softly. "He is the God of Night and Terror, Jon Snow, and these shapes in the snow are his creatures."

"They tell me that you slew one of them," Stannis said. "It may be that this is your war as well, Lord Snow. If you will give me your help."

"My sword is pledged to the Night's Watch, Your Grace," Jon answered carefully.

That did not please Stannis. He ground his teeth and said, "I need more than a sword from you."

Jon looked lost, "My lord?"

"I need the north."

Jon frowned, "I…my brother Robb was King in the North…your niece Selene his queen-"

"My niece," Stannis interrupted, "was my brother's only child. Once he died, she was no longer a princess, but a lady. Your brother was the rightful Lord of Winterfell. If they had both done their duty, instead of crowning themselves, they may have been safe in Winterfell today as Lord and Lady Stark. Be that as it may. You are not Robb, no more than I am Robert."

It seemed the harsh words destroyed any sympathy Jon had for Stannis. "I loved my brother," he said.

"And I mine. Yet they were what they were, and so are we. I am the only true king in Westeros, north or south. And you are Ned Stark's bastard." Stannis studied him with dark blue eyes, "Tywin Lannister has named Roose Bolton his Warden of the North, to reward him for betraying your brother. The ironmen are fighting amongst themselves since Balon Greyjoy's death, yet they still hold Moat Cailin, Deepwood Motte, Torrhen's Square, and most of the Stony Shore. Your father's lands are bleeding, and I have neither the strength nor the time to staunch the wounds. What is needed is a Lord of Winterfell. A _loyal_ Lord of Winterfell."

Jon paled.

Stannis waited a moment before saying, "Your northmen do not know me, have no reason to love me, yet I will need their strength in the battles yet to come. I need a son of Eddard Stark to win them to my banner."

The wind was blowing, and Jon looked so light-headed Selene worried he would fall off the Wall. "You forget, sire. I am a Snow, not a Stark."

"It's you who are forgetting," Stannis replied.

Melisandre put a hand on Jon's arm. Unreasonably, annoyance flared in Selene's chest when she saw the priestess look at Jon with wide red eyes, "A king can remove the taint of bastardy with a stroke, Lord Snow."

 _Jon, as Lord of Winterfell?_ The thought stunned Selene, but then she was glad. More than glad, perhaps even happy. _Jon is Ned's son. With Robb, Bran, and Rickon gone…_ Sansa was still out there somewhere, Selene supposed, but she must not have been found yet. _Better Jon than the Boltons._ The thought of Roose Bolton in Winterfell made Selene's hands ball into fists. _I have not forgotten the Boltons. Or the Freys._

Jon looked between them, "I knelt before a heart tree and swore to hold no lands and father no children."

"Jon," Melisandre said kindly, "there is only one god. Those were just trees. Open your heart to the Lord of Light, burn those weirwoods, and accept Winterfell as a gift from god."

 _Burn the weirwoods?_ Selene had thought Jon would accept, until then. _Jon wouldn't burn his father's gods. Would he?_

Jon was quiet for a while.

Stannis gazed off into the north, his gold cloak streaming from his shoulders, "It may be that I am mistaken in you, Jon Snow. We both know the things said of bastards. You may lack your father's honor, or your brother's skill in arms, but you are the weapon the Lord has given me. I have found you here, and I mean to make use of you. I plan on letting the wildlings through the Wall, and settling them on the Gift. When the cold winds rise, we shall live or die together. It is time we made alliance against our common foe. Would you agree?"

"My father dreamed of resettling the Gift," Jon admitted. "I agree."

"Good," King Stannis said, "for the surest way to seal a new alliance is with a marriage. I mean to wed my Lord of Winterfell to this wildling princess."

Jon laughed, "Forgive me, Your Grace. Captive or no, if you think you can just _give_ Val to me, I fear you have a deal to learn about wildling women. Whoever weds her had best be prepared to climb in her tower window and carry her off at swordpoint."

" _Whoever?"_ Stannis gave Jon a measuring look. "Does this mean you will not wed the girl? I warn you, she is part of the price you must pay, if you want your father's name and castle. This match is necessary, to help assure the loyalty of our new subjects. Are you refusing me, Jon Snow?"

"No," Jon said too quickly. "I mean…this has all come very suddenly, Your Grace. Might I beg you for some time to consider?"

"As you wish. But consider quickly. I am not a patient man, as your black brothers are about to discover." Stannis put a thin, fleshless hand on Jon's shoulder. "Say nothing of what we've discussed here today. To anyone. But when you return, you need only bend your knee, lay your sword at my feet, and pledge yourself to my service, and you shall rise again as Jon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell."

With that, Stannis left him. Selene watched her uncle's receding back. _The last Baratheon brother. My own blood._

It took a moment for Selene to realize that Melisandre had stayed behind with Jon. She gave him a searching look.

"My lady?"

"It's curious," Melisandre mused. "How often the Lady Selene came up in conversation."

Jon swallowed, "She is his niece. My brother's widow."

"Yes," she agreed, "but when you talk of her, your heart quickens."

Jon narrowed his eyes, "You can't know that."

"The Lord has given me gifts," was all she said in response.

Melisandre took a few steps forward and slowly reached toward Jon's cheek. Before she touched him, her hand went lower, to his neck, and she pulled out the moonstone from under his furs.

The red priestess's eyes glowed like coals. "How sweet."

Jon stepped back. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Melisandre smiled, and not unkindly. "You don't believe in my god, Jon Snow, I can see it in your eyes. And yet you see his power at work. He has given you both the gift of sight."

Jon stayed quiet, looking out over the immense north.

Melisandre was watching him with amusement, "Do you want to hear of the last time I saw her?"

Jon's hand twitched, but he held his tongue.

Melisandre stood beside him, staring northward. "She looked like a queen. She was a usurper, truly, but she shone in her silver gown, with her black sword on her hip, a crown on her head, and her lioness by her side. She threatened me with the beast."

The corner of Jon's lip turned up proudly, "I'm sure she did."

Melisandre chuckled, then grew quiet, "I was the one who told her she was with child."

At that, Jon's mirth left him.

"I told her she would never bear a child named Stark. She did not believe me. Perhaps the Lord was showing me something else."

"Enough," Jon said angrily, turning.

"I believe you," Melisandre said. When Jon looked confused, she explained, "The wildlings don't live like us. They won't accept a marriage between you and Val as reason to follow Stannis. I plan on convincing him of this truth. We can win the wildlings to the Lord's light some other way."

"And yet you still think I should bend my knee?" Jon asked.

Melisandre looked east, "Lady Selene is out there somewhere. Alive."

Jon froze.

Melisandre smiled, "Bend the knee, Jon Snow. Bend the knee, become Jon Stark, and we will invite Lady Selene back to Westeros, to be your wife."

"Stannis would never trust her," Jon argued. "She would never come back for him."

Melisandre looked unbothered, "My guess is that being the Lady of Winterfell is more appealing than whatever she is now." She smiled, "And there is the added benefit of being your wife to lure her back. I'm offering you the chance to be true and noble, to love and be loved in return. Aren't these your heart's desires?"

Jon's mouth set in a hard line, "A lifetime ago. Too many years have passed. We have loved and buried others."

Melisandre laughed, and it was as light and pleasant as tinkling bells, "You speak with the voice of a man of eighty, Jon Snow. You are young. You can love again."

Suddenly, Melisandre turned to Selene, and stared her directly in the eyes, "Consider it, will you?"

Selene gasped and jolted where she stood. _She's looking at me. She's speaking to me. But that's impossible._

Jon carried on, not noticing, "I will."

Melisandre's gaze was a fire, threatening to consume, "You don't have long," and then the red priestess reached out with her hand and grabbed Selene by the throat. Her touch burned.

 _Impossible,_ Selene thought as the breath was choked from her. For once in her visions, something was able to touch her. For the first time since she discovered the true power of the moonstones, she _felt_ something. And it was pain.

"Through the Lord of Light, all things are possible," Melisandre said squeezing tighter.

The last thing Selene saw was Jon's confusion as he turned to Melisandre. Red spots danced in Selene's vision, growing and burning brighter, until she was surrounded by the red of blood and flame.

###

Selene bolted upright, screaming.

"Selene!" Tyrion called, alarmed. "You've been yelling in your sleep. I tried waking you, but-" he placed a hand gently on her arm, and then pulled it back, "Ah! You're burning up!"

Selene's breaths came in heavy pants, as if she had sprinted for miles. Sweat glistened on her brow and she felt damp with it. "It's Melisandre! She-she's at the Wall with Jon and Stannis and-"

" _What_ are you on about?"

Selene told Tyrion about the supernatural moonstone connection. About how she was able to see Jon. "It's random. At least I think it's random." Selene shook her head, "I don't know…"

Tyrion was skeptical at first, but the more Selene talked, the more he seemed to believe her. "Are you sure it's…healthy?" Tyrion asked tentatively.

Selene frowned, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Tyrion searched for the right words, "I want you to find happiness one day, niece. I'm afraid that you will fixate on Jon Snow, a bastard thousands of leagues away, and not see what you have before you."

"Enough of that," Selene said sharply. _What I have before me,_ she thought. _He obviously means Young Griff._ Selene was annoyed to find Young Griff to be exactly what Illyrio promised. The boy was a lithe, well-made youth of Selene's age, with a shock of blue hair that he dyed in honor of his Tyroshi mother. He was a kind person and, much to Selene's frustration, undeniably handsome.

"So do you want to go back?" Tyrion asked. "Back to Westeros? To Winterfell? To Jon?"

Selene ran her fingers through her hair, and as usual recently, was surprised at how much sooner she stopped short. "No. It's Melisandre's plot, Stannis hasn't agreed to it. Besides, I don't even think Jon will accept Winterfell." _But if he does?_ _I could live a normal life again in the Seven Kingdoms…_

Selene shook her head. "He's Robb's brother."

Tyrion gave her a pitiful look, "Come now. Let's go abovedecks and try to shake this nightmare off." But then he yawned.

Selene chuckled, "Get some more rest, Uncle. I'll go and walk this off."

Tyrion stretched, "If you insist," and within seconds he was back in his hammock. "Perhaps leave the necklace?"

Selene slipped on her boots and climbed up a hempen ladder to the cabin above. Griff sat wrapped in a wolfskin cloak beside an iron brazier. The sellsword kept night watch by himself, rising as the rest of his men sought their beds and retiring when the sun came up.

Selene stood across from him and warmed her hands over the coals. Across the water nightingales were singing.

"It will be day soon," she said to Griff.

"Not soon enough. We need to be under way." If it had been up to Griff, the _Shy Maid_ would continue downstream by night as well as day, but the others refused to risk their pole-boat in the dark. The Upper Rhoyne was full of snags and sayers, any one of which could rip out the _Shy Maid's_ hull.

The sellsword's eyes were always moving, searching the night for…what? _Pirates? Stone men? Slave-catchers?_ The river had perils, Selene knew, but Griff himself struck Selene as more dangerous than any of them. He reminded her of Tyrion's sellsword Bronn, though Bronn had a black sense of humor and Griff had no humor at all.

"I would kill for a cup of wine," muttered Selene.

Griff made no reply. _He hates me,_ Selene thought. He hated her and Tyrion both. He knew who they were. Selene remembered the moment they first stepped on the ship, and how deep his frown was as he read Illyrio's letter of explanation meant for his eyes only. That he _could_ read said something all by itself. How many sellswords could boast of that? _He hardly moved his lips at all._

Selene remembered how his pale eyes narrowed when he finished the letter.

"Tywin Lannister dead? At _your_ hands?"

"At my finger. This one." Tyrion had held it up for Griff to admire. "Lord Tywin was sitting on a privy, so I put a crossbow bolt through his bowels to see if he really did shit gold. He didn't. A pity, I could have used the gold. My niece here used a blade to finish the job. It was a _tad_ on the dramatic side, but you wouldn't blame her if you heard her reasoning. I also slew my mother, somewhat earlier. Oh, and my nephew Joffrey, I poisoned him at his wedding feast and watched him choke to death. Did the cheesmonger leave that part out? I mean to add my sister on the list before I'm done, to please your queen."

" _Please_ her? Has Illyrio taken leave of his senses? Why does he imagine that Her Grace would welcome the service of self-confessed kinslayers and betrayers?"

 _A fair question,_ thought Selene, but what she said was, "Joffrey was on the throne that she desires, and all those that we betrayed were lions, so it seems to me that we have done more for that dragon queen than you. Have no fear, I won't kill you, you are no kin of mine."

Griff touched the letter to the candle flame and watched the parchment blacken, curl, and flare up. "There is blood between Targaryen, Lannister, and Baratheon. Why would you two support the cause of Queen Daenerys?"

 _I don't,_ Selene thought. _I do this for Storm's End and…_ "For hate. If you met my mother, you would understand."

Griff's eyes were murderous as he looked at her. "I understand hate well enough." The way he said it to her sent a chill up her spine, and Selene knew it was true. _He has supped on hate himself, this one. It has warmed him in the night for many years._ But Selene didn't understand what _she_ had done to earn his hate. _We've only just met._

"Then we have that in common, ser," Selene had said politely.

"I am no knight."

Selene glanced at Tyrion. _Not only a liar, but a bad one. That was clumsy and stupid, my lord._

"No matter, _Griff,_ " Tyrion had said emphatically. "You are no knight, I am Hugor Hill, and this is my niece Joanna. You have my word."

Griff analyzed them for a moment, "Understand this, dwarf. You are the last and least of our company. Hold your tongue and do as you are told, or you will soon wish you had. And you," he looked to Selene. "Keep away from my son. Keep to yourself and keep quiet."

 _Yes, Mother,_ Selene almost said. "As you say, my lord."

"I am no lord."

 _Liar._ "It was a courtesy, friend."

"I am no friend to House Baratheon."

 _No knight, no lord, no friend._ "A pity."

"Spare me your irony," Griff said cuttingly. "I will take you two as far as Volantis. If you show yourselves to be obedient and useful, you may remain with us, to serve the queen as best you can. Prove yourself more trouble than you're worth and you can go your own way."

Tyrion had bowed, not quite respectfully, and Griff walked away. But before he got out of earshot, Tyrion said, "What if we should find the queen and discover that this talk of dragons was just some sailor's drunken fantasy? This wide world is full of such mad tales. Grumpkins and snarks, ghosts and ghouls, mermaids, rock goblins, winged horses…winged lions."

Griff stared at him, frowning, "I have given you fair warning, Lannister. Guard your tongue or lose it. Kingdoms are at stake here. Our lives, our names, our honor. This is no game we're playing for your amusement."

 _Of course it is,_ thought Selene. _The game of thrones._

Ever since that first conversation between the three of them on the _Shy Maid,_ Griff called them by the names they chose for their disguises, as the rest of the crew were unaware of who they were, but his hard eyes and sharp voice always reminded Selene that he was no friend to them.

In the east, the first pale light of day suffused the sky above the river. The waters of the Rhoyne slowly went from black to blue, to match the sellsword's hair and beard. Griff got to his feet. "The others should wake soon. The deck is yours." The clouds in the sky were aglow: pink and purple and beautiful. One looked like a dragon. _Once a man has seen a dragon in flight, let him stay and home and tend his garden in content,_ someone had written once, _for this wide world has no greater wonder._ Selene tried to recall the author's name. Dragons had been much in her thoughts of late.

Young Griff stumbled up onto the deck, yawning, "Good morrow, Jo." The lad was slightly taller than her, but his lanky build suggested he had not yet come into his full growth. _This beardless boy could have any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms, blue hair or no. Those eyes of his would melt them._ Like his sire, Young Griff had blue eyes, but where the father's eyes were pale, the son's were dark. By lamplight they turned black, and in the light of dusk they seemed purple. His eyelashes were as long as any woman's.

"I think we'll be practicing with swords today," he said amiably. There was a sort of camaraderie between them. They were the youngest on the boat, and Selene couldn't remember the last time she had a friend her own age. She could tell by the boy's manner that he felt much the same. Young Griff had also taken to calling her Jo, which, for some strange reason she couldn't explain, she liked very much.

Selene smiled, "Swords will be sweet." She had been practicing hard as of late. There was little else to do, and she was woefully out of practice.

Septa Lemore emerged in her white robes, cinched at the waist with a woven belt of seven colors. Her hair flowed loose about her shoulders. "How did you two sleep?"

"Well, thanks," Selene said politely, grateful Tyrion wasn't here for this. He and the Septa had a habit of sharing randy jokes. Selene had told him how strange it was that Septa Lemore kept up with his wicked humor, and he had said, "Oh, I think no one on this boat is who they seem to be. Least of all us."

He had a point.

"Will you join me for a bath today, Joanna?" the septa said as she walked to the prow of the boat. It was her custom to bathe in the river every morning. Selene had been averse at first, but Young Griff never looked, and she could hardly stomach being shier than a _septa._

"Plainly the ship was not named for you," Selene joked as she went to the septa, disrobing.

"The Mother and Father made us in their image. We should glory in our bodies, for they are the work of gods."

Selene slipped with her into the water. There was a chill, but it was better than being filthy. She noticed the stretch marks on Lemore's belly that could only have come from childbirth, and knew that for all her talk of holiness, the septa had her secrets too.

The owners of the boat, Yandry and Ysilla, rose with the sun and were going about their business. Ysilla, the small dark wife, fed some wood chips to the brazier on the deck, stirred the coals, and began to knead the dough for the morning biscuits.

When Selene climbed back onto deck with Lemore, she tried ignoring the others. Though they refused to look out of courtesy, Selene was painfully aware of the water trickling between her breasts, her smooth skin glowing golden in the morning light. _Young Griff's eyes are glued to the brazier,_ Selene noticed, not without some satisfaction, a _nd his cheeks are aflame._

Selene wrung the water from her hair and slipped a tunic over herself when Yandry pulled up anchor, slid one of the long poles off the cabin roof, and pushed them off. Two of the herons raised their heads to watch as the _Shy Maid_ drifted away from the bank, out into the current. Slowly the boat began to move downstream. Yandy went to the tiller. Ysilla was turning the biscuits. She laid an iron pan atop the brazier and put bacon in. Some days she cooked biscuits and bacon, some days bacon and biscuits. Once every fortnight there might be a fish, but not today.

When Ysilla turned her back, Selene snatched two biscuits off the brazier, darting away just in time to avoid a smack from her fearsome wooden spoon. She handed one to Young Griff, who struggled to contain his laughter. They were best when eaten hot, dripping with honey and butter. The smell of bacon cooking soon fetched Duck up from the hold. He sniffed over the brazier, received a swack from Ysilla's spoon, and went back to having his morning piss of the stern.

Tyrion waddled up to join him, and Selene couldn't help smirking at Ser Duck, the knight who chose his name because he was in a field with some ducks when he was knighted. It made Selene laugh every time.

Ysilla fed them on the deck, pressing honeyed biscuits on Young Griff and Selene, and hitting Duck's hand with her spoon whenever he made a grab for more bacon. Tyrion pulled apart two biscuits, filled them with bacon and carried one to Yandry at the tiller. Afterward, Selene helped Duck raise the _Shy Maid's_ big sail. Yandry took them out into the center of the river, where the current was strongest. The _Shy Maid_ was a sweet boat. Her draft was so shallow she could work her way up even the smallest of the river's vassal stream, negotiating sandbars that would have stranded larger vessels, yet with her sail raised and a current under her, she could make good speed. That could mean life and death on the upper reaches of the Rhoyne, Yandry claimed. "There is no law above the Sorrows, not for a thousand years."

"And no _people,_ so far as I can see." She'd glimpsed some ruins along the banks, piles of masonry overgrown by vines and moss and flowers, but no other signs of human habitation.

"You do not know the river, Joanna. A pirate boat may lurk up any stream, and escaped slaves oft hide amongst the ruins. The slave-catchers seldom come so far north."

"Slave-catchers would be a welcome change from turtles," Tyrion said.

When the bacon was gone, Duck punched Young Griff in the shoulder, "Time to raise some bruises."

Selene dressed for the fight, in heavy breeches, padded doublet, and dinted mail. Young Griff went heavier with steel plates, and Duck shrugged into his mail and leathers. Duck gave Selene a wary look. Though Young Griff was quick to include Selene in training, Duck had made his thoughts on women and weaponry abundantly clear.

Selene, as usual, just tried to ignore it. She grabbed one of the blunted longswords they used for practice and set to on the deck while the rest of the morning company looked on.

When she fought with mace or blunted longaxe, Duck's great size and strength would quickly overwhelm her; with swords that contests were more even. They did not take up shields this morning, so it was a game of slash and parry, back and forth across the deck. The river rang with the sounds of their combat. According to Duck, if Selene was going to join, then they would play out a battle scenario, with several opponents attacking at once. Despite this instruction, Selene found that mostly she would fight _alongside_ Young Griff, perhaps throwing a few lazy slashes at each other for propriety, but mostly they would lunge at Duck together. Selene landed more blows, though Duck's were harder. After a while, the bigger man began to tire. His cuts came a little slower, a little lower. Young Griff turned them all while Selene launched a furious attack that forced Duck back. When they reached the stern, the blue haired lad tied up their blades and slammed a shoulder into Duck, and the big man went into the river.

"Yes!" Selene cried joyfully. _I feel like my old self again._

Young Griff swept of his helm and shook his blue locks from his eyes. He extended an open palm to her, "Nice one, Jo,"

Selene gave his hand a satisfying smack with one of her own. Her face was flushed from more than just battle. _Joanna may not be my name, but when he calls me Jo I can feel myself blush like a maiden and, for a moment, I wish I was simply Jo._

Tyrion tossed a line to him. "Ducks should swim better than that," he said as he and Yandry were hauling the knight back aboard.

Ser Duck grabbed Tyrion by the collar. "Let us see how dwarfs swim," he said, chucking him headlong into the Rhoyne.

Selene ran to the stern, watching as Tyrion paddled passably well, until his legs began to cramp. She extended a pole.

"You are not the first to try and drown me," Tyrion told Duck as he poured river water from his boot. "My father threw me down a well the day I was born, but I was so ugly that the water witch who lived down there spat me back." He pulled off the other boot, then did a cartwheel along the deck, spraying all of them.

Young Griff laughed, "Where did you learn that?"

"The mummers taught me," Tyrion lied.

"You have a gift for making men smile," Septa Lemore told Tyrion as he was drying off his toes. "You should thank the Father Above. He gives gifts to all his children."

"He does," Tyrion agreed pleasantly, though Selene saw in his eyes that he was only thinking of the father below.

As Young Griff went off with Septa Lemore to be instructed in the mysteries of the Faith, Tyrion and Selene got to work. Griff had commanded them to set down all they knew of dragonlore. The task was a formidable one, but they had labored at it every day, scratching away as best they could.

Selene had read much and more of dragons through her years. The greater part of those accounts were idle tales and could not be relied on, and the books that Illyrio had provided them were not the ones she might have wishes for. What she really wanted was the complete text of _The Fires of the Freehold._ Galendro's history of Valyria. No complete copy was known to Westeros, however, even the Citadel lacked twenty-seven scrolls. _They must have a library in Old Volantis, surely. I may find a better copy there, if I can find a way inside the Black Walls to the city's heart._

She was less hopeful concerning Septon Barth's _Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History._ Barth had been a blacksmith's son who rose to be King's Hand during the reign of Jaeherys the Conciliator. His enemies always claimed he was more sorcerer than septon. Baelor the Blessed had ordered all Barth's writings destroyed when he came to the Iron Throne. Years ago, Selene had read a fragment that had eluded Blessed Baelor, but she doubted that any of Barth's work had found its way across the narrow sea. And of course there was even less chance of her coming on the fragmentary, anonymous, blood-soaked tone sometimes called _Blood and Fire_ and sometimes _The Death of Dragons,_ the only surviving copy of which was supposedly hidden away in a locked vault beneath the Citadel.

When the Halfmaester appeared on deck, yawning, Selene was writing down what she recalled concerning the mating habits of dragons, on which subject Barth, Munkun, and Thomax held markedly divergent views. Haldon stalked to the stern to piss down at the sun where it shimmered on the water. He had a lined, clean-shaven face, and cool grey eyes that were quick and bright. He was the healer of their little band, and the most intelligent of the bunch.

"We should reach the junction with the Noyne by evening," the Halfmaester called out.

Selene kept her eyes on her paper, not truly paying attention, "Mhm."

"What did you tell me was the name of that street in Lannisport where you were born, Joanna?"

"It was an alley. It had no name." Selene took pleasure in inventing the details of the colorful life of Joanna Hill, bastard of Lannisport. _The best lies are seasoned with a bit of truth._ Deserted by her father, Joanna's mother died in childbed, where the only family she had was her mother's dwarf brother, Hugor. Selene knew that she and Tyrion sounded highborn, so Hugor and Joanna needed to be some lordling's by-blow. Perhaps _Hugor_ was named for the first Andal King, meant to curry favor with the gods despite his size. Perhaps _Joanna_ was named to honor the poor late Lady Joanna Lannister. They were from Lannisport because they knew the city better than Oldtown and King's Landing was too close to court for comfort.

"Will you join us for Young Griff's lessons, my lady? And will you honor me with a game of _cyvasse?"_

The Halfmaester always won, but it was a way to pass the time. "Yes, I would like that, but I am not a lady."

There were four cabins on the _Shy Maid._ Yandry and Ysilla shared one, Griff and Young Griff another. Septa Lemore had a cabin to herself, as did Haldon the Halfmaester. His was the largest of the four. One wall was lined with bookshelves and bins stacked with old scrolls and parchments; another held racks of ointments, herbs, and potions. Golden light slanted through the wavy yellow glass of the round window. The furnishings included a bunk, a writing desk, a chair, a stool, and the Halfmaester's _cyvasse_ table, strewn with carved wooden pieces.

The lesson began with languages. Young Griff spoke the Common Tongue as if he had been born to it, and was fluent in High Valyrian, the low dialects of Pentos, Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys, and the trade talk of sailors. The Volantene dialect was as new to him as it was to Selene, so every day they learned a few more words whilst Haldon corrected their mistakes. Meereenese was harder; it's roots were Valyrian as well, but it was mixed with the harsh, ugly tongue of Old Ghis. "You need a bee up your nose to speak Ghiscari properly," Selene complained. Young Griff laughed, but the Halfmaester only said, "Again." The boy obeyed, though he rolled his eyes along with his zzzs this time. _He has a better ear than me,_ Selene was forced to admit, _thought I'll wage my tongue is still more nimble._

Geometry followed languages. There the boy was less competent, but Haldon was a patient teacher, and Selene was able to make herself of use as well. She had learned the mysteries of squares and circles and triangle's from the Red Keep's maesters at King's Landing, and they came back more quickly than she would have thought.

By the time they turned to history, Young Griff was growing restive.

"We were discussing the history of Volantis," Haldon said to him. "Can you tell Joanna the difference between a tiger and an elephant?"

"Volantis is the oldest of the Nine Free Cities, the first daughter of Valyria," the lad replied in a bored tone. "After the Doom it pleased the Volantenes to consider themselves the heirs of the Freehold and rightful rulers of the world, but they were divided as to how dominion might be best achieved. The Old Blood favored the sword, while the merchants and moneylenders advocated trade. As they contended for rule of the city, the factions became known as the tigers and elephants, respectively.

"The tigers held sway for almost a century after the Doom of Valyria. For a time they were successful. A Volantene fleet took Lys and a Volantene army captured Myr, and for two generations all three cities were ruled from within the Black Walls. That ended when the tiger tried to swallow Tyrosh. Pentos came into the war on the Tyroshi side, along with the Westerosi Storm King. Braavos provided a Lyseni exile with a hundred warships. Aegon Targaryen flew forth from Dragonstone on the Black Dread, and Myr and Lys rose up in rebellion. The war left the Disputed Lands a waste, and freed Lys and Myr from the yoke. The tigers suffered other defeats as well. The fleet they sent to reclaim Valyria vanished in the Smoking Sea. Qohor and Norvos broke their power on the Rhoyne when the fire galleys fought on Dagger Lake. Out of the east came the Dothraki, driving smallfolk from their hovels and nobles from their estates, until only grass and ruin remained from the forest of Qohor to the headwaters of the Rhoyne. After a century of war, Volantis found herself broken, bankrupt, and depopulated. It was then that the elephants rose up. They have held sway ever since. Some years the tigers elect a triarch, some years they do not, but never more than one, so the elephants have ruled the city for three hundred years."

"Just so," said Haldon. "And the present triarchs?"

"Malaquo is a tiger. Nysses and Doniphos are elephants."

"And what lesson can we draw from Volantene history?"

"If you want to conquer the world, you best have dragons."

Selene could not help but laugh.

Later, when Young Griff went up on deck to help Yandry with the sails, Haldon set up his _cyvasse_ table for their game.

Selene watched and said, "The boy is bright. You have done well by him. Half the lords in Westeros are not so learned, sad to say. Languages, history, songs, sums…a hearty education for a sellswords son."

"A book can be as dangerous as a sword in the right hands," said Haldon. "Try to give me a better battle this time, Joanna. You play _cyvasse_ as badly as you cross swords."

"I am trying to lull you into a false sense of confidence," said Selene, as they arranged their tiles on either side of a carved wooden screen. "You _think_ you taught me how to play, but things are not always as they seem. Perhaps I learned the game from the cheesemonger, have you considered that?"

"Illyrio does not play _cyvasse._ "

 _No,_ thought Selene. _H_ _e plays the game of thrones, and you and Griff and Duck are only pieces, to be moved where he will and sacrificed if need be._ "The blame must fall on you, then. If I play badly, it is your doing."

The Halfmaester chuckled, "I shall miss you when pirates cut your throat."

"Where are these famous pirates? I am beginning to think that you and Illyrio made them all up."

"They are thickest near the Sorrows. Are you ready?"

"For you? Beyond a doubt. For the pirates? Less so."

Haldon removed the screen. Each of them contemplated the other's opening army. "You are learning," the Halfmaester said.

Selene almost grabbed her dragon but thought better of it. Last game, she had brought her out too soon and lost her to a canon. "If we do meet these fabled pirates, I may join up with them. I'll tell them that my name is Joanna Halfmaester." She moved her light horse toward Haldon's mountains.

Haldon answered with an elephant. "Joanna Halfwit would suit you better."

Selene laughed, "I only need half my wits to be a match for you," Selene moved up her heavy horse to support the light, "Perhaps you would care to wager the outcome?"

The Halfmaester raised a brow, "How much?"

"I have no coin. We'll play for secrets."

"Griff would cut my tongue out."

"Afraid, are you? I would be if I were you."

"The day you defeat me at _cyvasse_ will be the day turtles crawl out of my ass." The Halfmaester moved his spears. "You have your wager, girl."

Selene stretched out a hand for her dragon.

It was three hours later when Selene finally crept back up on the deck. Duck was helping Yandry wrestle down the sail, while Ysilla took the tiller. The sun hung low. _I need a skin of wine,_ Selene thought. Her legs were cramped from squatting on that stool, and she felt so light-headed that she was lucky not to fall into the river. It had gone according to her and Tyrion's plan. Disarm the Halfmaester with a few losses, and then learn some truths. Tyrion and Selene had been playing _cyvasse_ since she was old enought to understand it. _This changes everything. I have to tell Tyrion._

"Joanna," Duck called. "Where's Haldon?"

"He's taken to his bed, in some discomfort. There are turtles crawling out his ass." She left the knight to sort that out and crawled up a ladder to the cabin roof. Off to the east, there was darkness gathering.

Septa Lemore found her there, "Can you feel the storms in the air, Joanna Hill? Dagger Lake is ahead of us, where pirates prowl. And beyond that lies the Sorrows."

 _Not mine. I carry my own sorrows with me, everywhere I go._ Selene thought of Jon and wondered what his decision would be. _Will he burn his father's gods and send for me? Me, his brother's widow?_ She wondered what her answer would be. Even if she _did_ agree, if Stannis did win the Iron Throne, if the Mad King's daughter truly had dragons, if she did turn her eyes to Westeros with Young Griff by her side, then they wouldn't be safe for long. _If, if, if, if, if._

Selene saw ruins rising along the eastern bank; crooked walls and fallen towers. _Another dead city._

Then, through the twisted half-drowned trees and wide wet streets, she glimpsed the silvery sheen of sunlight upon water. _Another river,_ she knew at once, _rushing toward the Rhoyne._ The ruins grew taller as the land grew narrower, until the city ended on a point of land where stood the remains of a colossal palace of pink and green marble, its collapsed domes and broken spires looming large above a row of covered archways. Selene saw turtles sleeping in the slips where half a hundred ships might have docked. She knew where she was then. _That was Nymeria's palace, and this is all that remains of Ny Sar, her city._

"This is Ny Sar, where the Mother gathers in her Wild Daughter, Noyne," said Yandry, "but she will not reach her widest point until she meets her other daughters. At Dagger Lake, the Qhoyne comes rushing in, the Darkling Daughter, full of gold and amber from the Axe…and more and more until the Mother Rhoyne waxes so wide that a man upon a boat cannot see a shore to either side. You shall see, girl."

 _I shall,_ Selene thought, when she spied a rippling ahead not six yards from the boat. She was about to point it out to Lemore when it came to the surface with a wash of water that rocked the _Shy Maid_ sideways.

It was another turtle, a horned turtle of enormous size, it's dark green shell mottled with brown and overgrown with water moss. It raised its head and bellowed, a deep-throated thrumming roar louder than any warhorn Selene had ever heard.

"We are blessed," Ysilla was crying loudly, as tears streamed down her face. "We are blessed, we are blessed."

Duck was hooting, and Young Griff too, and soon enough even Tyrion. Haldon came out on deck to learn the cause of the commotion…but too late. The giant turtle had vanished below the water once again.

"What was the cause of all that noise?" the Halfmaester asked.

"A turtle," said Selene. "A turtle bigger than this boat."

"It was _him,_ " Yandry cried. "The Old Man of the River."

 _And why not?_ Selene thought blankly. _Gods and wonders always appear, to attend the birth of kings._


	45. You are Everything

Tyrion could scarcely believe her.

It took much debating and discussion for all the connections to be made between them. Once the big secret was known, the one Haldon confessed after their game of _cyvasse_ , the details fell into place.

Selene could hardly sleep, so she went abovedecks in the darkness that was too early to be day, too late to be night, with the intention of sharpening Stormsbane. She went out in her lion's cloak to fight the chill in the air. And it made her feel braver.

Griff was still keeping watch, but his eyes were half-closed when she appeared on deck. He gave her a passing glance, and then continued staring out into the night.

_At least now I know why he hates me so,_ she thought.

Selene sat on the prow of the boat, sharpening her sword with a whetstone. _I'm tired of sparring with blunted steel. I haven't wielded Stormsbane in so long._

She didn't notice when Griff went down belowdecks to sleep, or when Young Griff came abovedecks for air.

"You're up early."

Selene was silent.

She could feel his frown, "Have I done something to offend, my lady?"

"I'm not a lady," Selene answered firmly.

"I hardly believe that," Young Griff stretched. "I don't care who you are, you know. It doesn't matter to me."

_You would if you knew,_ Selene thought sadly. _If you knew my father caved in your father's chest with his warhammer. You would hardly be my friend then._

But instead she said, "No one on this boat is who they say they are. Least of all you."

"I'm Young Griff, son of Griff."

_Lies._ "And I am Joanna Hill of Lannisport."

Selene heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed. In a steel blur, she turned on her knees with her black sword pointing up.

Young Griff looked startled. "You think I mean to kill you?"

Her eyes went down to the sword in his hand, "Took that out for fun, did you?"

He grinned, "I did, actually. I wanted to spar. Thought we could make it interesting."

"How?"

"Well, whenever one of us lands a blow, they ask a question. And the other _must_ answer honestly."

Selene snorted, "And how will I know if you're telling the truth?"

Young Griff shrugged, "You can't. But neither can I."

Selene stood. _It's like Haldon's game of cyvasse all over again._ "You have your wager." She spun the blade in her hand as she shrugged off her cloak.

Selene struck quick and hard. Young Griff went to block, but she feinted and smacked the side of his arm with the flat of her sword. She smiled. _I'm as good as I ever was_. After weeks of rigorous practice and training, she was back to her old level of skill, perhaps better. "You may regret this bet."

Young Griff rubbed his arm, "Perhaps. Your question?"

"What is your true name?"

He _tsked,_ "A strong start, but you must know I can't answer that. Think smaller."

Selene's lips pressed together, "What awaits you in Meereen?"

"A bride," Young Griff said before striking. Selene blocked, but just barely. A few slashes and parries later, Selene's calf had been given a smack.

"Where were you really born?"

_I could lie,_ Selene thought, but she found herself saying, "King's Landing."

Back and forth they went for what felt like hours. Smacking and asking and answering.

"Are you married?"

"I was."

"Where were you born?"

"King's Landing as well, funny enough."

"Where did you get that lion's cloak?"

"My grandfather had it made for me."

"Who was your mother?"

"A Dornishwoman. And yours?"

"That's not how the game works," Selene chided as she swung.

Cornered, she leapt up to the cabin roof. Young Griff was quick to follow. The more they fought, the more Selene realized that he was an exceptional swordsman. _He fears hurting me._ In response, she didn't let up, spinning and giving him a smack on the back.

Young Griff smiled his easy, handsome smile, "Yes?"

Instead of answering, Selene disarmed him. His sword clattered on the deck below.

"That's hardly fair!"

"War is never fair." She meant it in play, but it came out harder than she intended.

His smile faltered, "You've seen war?"

"I believe it was my turn to ask a question." Selene leveled her blade at his chest.

Young Griff waited patiently, dark eyes glinting.

_For all our talk of deceit, he does not fear me. He does not believe I will harm him._

Selene flicked her wrist, running the tip of her sword lightly across his chest.

Young Griff jerked away, wincing, "You drew blood."

"You trusted me. That was foolish."

"But I can trust you, Jo."

_There it is._ "That's not even my name."

"Then tell me your name," he said earnestly. "Tell me why Griff warned me to stay away from you. Who are you?"

"Who are _you_?"

Young Griff hesitated, and for a moment Selene thought he would tell her. She lowered her sword an inch, which was when he charged her.

Stormsbane fell to the deck below. Young Griff knocked Selene off her feet. He pinned her down, smiling.

"My arm," Selene said in a thick voice, clutching her right arm as she made a pained face.

Young Griff's eyes widened, his grip on her relaxing. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Jo. I'm so-"

Selene threw all her strength up and over, and then it was Young Griff who was lying helpless. She pulled her dagger from her boot and held it to his throat, unable to stop the proud smile that rose to her lips.

Young Griff laughed, "You should go into mummery."

"You know, I've had the same idea. Do you yield?"

"Hmm," Young Griff pretended to contemplate her question. "Not at present. I believe there are worse fates than being under you."

Selene laughed as a flush crept up her neck, but then her gaze went down to his chest, where a thin line of blood seeped through his shirt. She grew serious, "You can't trust me."

" _Why_?" Young Griff asked. "I don't understand. Illyrio sent you and Hugor. How could you mean me any harm?"

"Believe me," she said sadly, "if you only knew-"

Selene didn't finish her sentence, because at that exact moment, Young Griff threw her overboard. With a yelp, she clutched at him desperately, dragging him in behind her with a string of curses.

They hit the water with a loud splash. The _Shy Maid_ was anchored for the night in shallow water, meaning that when Selene stood, the water went to her chest. Young Griff's blue locks clung to his face as he stood gaping in the water.

Selene stared at him for a long moment, and choked on a laugh. Young Griff moved a patch of wet hair, looking like some sort of absurd pirate with a blue eyepatch, and that's when Selene lost control and began to laugh.

Young Griff laughed, too. They must have looked insane, half-standing, half-floating in the waters of the Rhoyne, breathless with laughter. "You're not the only one who could be a mummer," he choked out, which made the two of them laugh even harder.

Selene was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, quieting down, when she realized how close Young Griff had gotten. He bent his knees, so his chin was kissing the surface of the water. Selene did the same, growing serious.

Selene was close enough to count the lashes around his dark blue eyes. _Not blue,_ she reminded herself, _purple._

"What happened to your husband?"

Young Griff looked sympathetic, so Selene began, "He died in the war. He-" she gasped. "My dagger!"

"What?"

Selene looked frantically about the river bed she was standing on. "I must have dropped it in the river! Help me find it!"

Selene and Young Griff floated around, searching helplessly. She looked downriver. _The current is so strong. It must be halfway to Volantis by now._ It took a moment for her to realize she was crying.

Young Griff was alarmed at her tears, "I'm sorry. It's my fault. I threw you in the Rhoyne-"

"You did, and look what _fucking_ happened!"

"Jo, I just-"

"I don't want to hear it! That was my _husband's_ blade. I mean, not really, more like my husband's metals…"

"Actually, Jo, I-"

"It was all I had left of him!" Selene's voice shook with with grief. And then that grief turned to fury, "And because of _you-"_

"JOANNA!"

Selene stopped, but she wasn't sure what was more worrying, his volume or his use of her full name.

Young Griff sighed, "Will you _please_ let me speak more than a few words?" He then held up her winter dagger.

A breath of relief rushed out of her chest. She leapt forward, throwing her arms around his neck, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you."

Young Griff laughed, "I believe this is yours." He bowed gallantly, or as much as he was able with the water level with his chest.

Selene held the blade delicately in her hands. _I almost lost you._

Young Griff watched her, "You must have really loved him."

Selene smiled wistfully, "I did. Very much. He was my husband. The father of my-" She looked up at Young Griff, who was staring at her with his deep purple eyes.

"You're a mother?"

"I-" Selene hesitated, "I almost was. My child," _was murdered inside of me,_ "died before he was born."

"I'm…" Young Griff's eyes shifted back and forth between her own, "I know this means very little, Jo, but…I'm sorry. It must have been hard for you and your husband."

_Robb died first,_ Selene thought, _but…_ "Thank you, Young Griff. And it doesn't, by the way. Mean very little. It means a lot."

He gave her a small smile. "Your husband was a fortunate man."

_He never lost a battle._ Selene smiled, "I've often wished I could take his place. That I could trade his life for mine somehow." _Robb was Selene's husband and king, but I am Jo now._ Westeros felt very far away.

Young Griff brows drew together, "I would give up everything to be so loved."

Selene tried to smile, "You said a bride awaits you in Meereen?" _Your father's own sister. Daenerys Stormborn._

He nodded solemnly.

"Who is she?"

Young Griff smiled, "By all acounts the most beautiful woman in the world."

"You're a lucky man."

He laughed, "I thought so, too. Until recently."

Selene's heart began to hammer in her chest. "Do you say that to every maiden?" she said with a sly smile.

Young Griff frowned, "You're the first girl my age I've ever really spoken to." His eyes flitted around her face, resting briefly on her forehead, cheeks, chin, and lips.

"You sure know how to make a girl feel special," she tried to say it dryly, but ended up sounding breathless. _He has to stop looking at me like that. Or-_

"Do you remember what Septa Lemore said the other morning?" Young Griff asked suddenly. "Before your bath?"

Selene's lidded eyes rose from his lips to his eyes, and she gave him an incredulous look, "You want to go over the mysteries of the faith? Now?"

"Do you remember?" he asked again.

"She said the Mother and Father made us in their image," Selene said carefully, wary of his intention. "That we should glory in our bodies, for they are the work of gods."

"I never really understood what she meant until I met you."

Selene laughed sharply, "I'm certain I'm not the first maid to hear those words from your lips."

"I'm serious," Young Griff's eyes searched her face. "Watching you bathe in the mornings is such sweet torture," he added with a wicked grin.

Selene blushed fiercely. "I thought you never looked!" she protested, sending a small splash of water into his face.

He laughed, "You try not looking when the Maiden herself emerges from the river ever morning. Come now, Jo." He gave her a knowing look, "You knew I was watching."

_I did know,_ Selene realized. _I knew and I enjoyed it._ Her voice sounded small. "I wish I was."

His blue brows furrowed, "Was what?"

"Jo."

He reached for her cheek, "I don't care who you are."

_You would if you knew._

"Young Griff-"

Her words were cut short when he leaned in close. Selene's eyes fluttered shut as Young Griff's lips brushed lightly against her own. It felt very much like the kiss she had given Garlan. Feather-light and sweet. An invitation.

Unlike Ser Garlan's kiss, this one stirred something in Selene that had been asleep since Robb. She slid her hand behind his blue hair and kissed him back.

Whatever propriety Yougn Griff had left him at her response. Greedy hands pulled at her waist, dragged up her back, gripped at her hair, clutching tight in a way that made Selene's heart leap into her mouth. She felt his many years of training beneath his wet clothes, and with a jolt realized he could feel her, too.

_Gods, I want him to feel me._

Selene's mind was in turmoil. She wanted it, the gods knew. She wanted it as much as she ever wanted anything. _I have always wanted it,_ said a voice in her head. _May the gods forgive me._ It was a hunger inside of her, sharp as a blade. A hunger…she could feel it. _I want to be noble and true. To hold a son of my own blood in my arms one day. To have Selene in my life…in my bed…_ The thought consumed her like fire.

It was a long moment before she understood what was happening. When she did, she broke the kiss, " _Jon?_ "

Young Griff frowned, "Who?"

Selene wasn't paying attention, "I have to go." She swam toward the side of the boat. Luckily, Ysilla and Yandry were getting up with the sun.

"Joanna?" Ysilla said, startled.

"We fell," Selene explained as the pole was extended to her.

"Jo? Wait!" Young Griff swam up behind her.

Selene did not wait. The moment her feet hit the deck, she snatched her cloak and bolted to her hammock down below. Once there, she changed into dry clothes, wrung out her hair, and got into her hammock. Her heart was beating so quick, she feared she would never fall asleep. It was hard to say why exactly. _Is it pounding because of Young Griff? Or because my heart is following the beat of Jon's? Tyrion was right. This is too confusing._ Selene took deep breaths and wrapped herself in her lion's cloak. The pelt was pure comfort to her. It made her feel safe. Selene drifted…

And then she was at the base of the Wall. On the northern side.

The only other people there were Jon and Sam, his fat friend. Selene was instantly relieved that Melisandre was nowhere to be seen. She had not forgotten her terror when the fire priestess touched her. _Perhaps her god is not one to laugh at._

The two brothers of the Night's Watch were debating. Or rather, Jon was speaking adamantly, and Sam was listening patiently.

"Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do _I_ want?" Jon was asking Sam.

"What did Selene want?" Sam asked curiously.

"She…" Jon shook his head. "She wanted me to be happy, but Stannis is offering Val and Melisandre is offering Selene."

"You think Princess Selene would come back to Westeros?" Sam asked. "After everything Stannis has done?"

Jon was quiet, the wind stirring his cloak. "Maybe she would…for me."

Selene heard all the hope in the world in his voice.

"Imagine it, Sam," Jon said longingly. "A place where I belong. A _home._ A woman I love. _Children_ of my own one day..."

Selene's heart beat frantically in her chest. _Oh, Jon…I want that, too…_

"I know how much that must mean to you," Sam said.

"Selene was something I had never dared dreamed of since I decided to live life on the Wall, though that's done little to stop me from doing so. To think that I might have children, _our_ children…" Jon's eyes grew dark and hungry, "It's like food I need, prey, a red deer that stinks of fear or a great elk proud and defiant. I need to kill and fill my belly with fresh meat and hot dark blood…"

Sam looked startled, "There might be food in the kitchens…"

Jon shook his head, as if clearing his mind. " _Ghost?"_ He looked around frantically, "Sorry, Sam. That was Ghost." Jon turned toward the wood and there he came, padding silently out of the green dusk, the breath coming warm and white from his open jaws. " _Ghost!"_ Jon shouted and then the wolf broke into a run. He was larger than Selene remembered, and the only sound he made was the soft crunch of dead leaves beneath his paws. When he reached Jon he leapt, and they wrestled amongst the brown grass. "Gods, wolf, where have you _been?"_ Jon said when Ghost had stopped worrying at his forearm. "I thought you'd died on me, like Robb and Ygritte and all the rest. I've had no sense of you, not since I climbed the Wall, not even in my dreams."

The direwolf had no answer, but he licked Jon's face.

Selene missed Eleni more than ever.

Sam waddled up to them. "Hi, Ghost," he said politely.

Jon was scratching Ghost's muzzle affectionately. "He has red eyes, but not like the priestess. He has a weirwood's eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one…" he said proudly.

Jon straightened. It seemed he had his answer then.

The southern knights gaped at Jon as he went through Castle Black. None of them had ever seen a direwolf before.

"You're late for your supper," a southern knight said disdainfully.

"Then get out of my way, ser," Jon replied, and he did.

Selene could hear the noise even before she reached the bottom of the steps; raised voices, curses, someone pounding on a table. Selene followed Jon into the vault like a shadow, but he went unnoticed. His brothers crowded the benches and the tables, but more were standing and shouting than were sitting, and no one was eating. That was when Selene saw Janos Slynt, bellowing about turncloaks and treason.

Rage flared in her chest. Selene stared at Janos Slynt with eyes like steel, wishing she could kill him with a thought. _Traitor. Craven. If I could, I would hang him and let the crows have his eyes._

Jon was positively snarling next to her.

Sam looked alarmed. "Jon," he whispered, "relax, will you? Stop looking at Slynt like that."

"I can't," Jon murmured. "I don't know why, but I have a sudden desire to string him up and watch crows eat his eyes."

Selene smirked.

As Jon walked toward the tables, more of the brothers took note of his arrival, and fell quiet. A hush spread across the cellar, until the only sounds were Jon's heels clicking on the stone floor, and the soft crackle of the logs in the hearth.

Ser Allister Thorne shattered the silence. "The turncloak graces us with his presence at last."

Lord Janos was red-faced and quivering. "The _beast,_ " he gasped. "Look! The beast that tore the life from Halfhand. A warg walks among us, brothers. A _WARG!_ This…this _creature_ is not fit to lead us! This _beastling_ is not fit to live!"

Ghost bared his teeth, but Jon put a hand on his head. "My lord," he said, "will you tell me what's happened here?"

Maester Aemon answered, from the far end of the hall. "Your name has been put forth as Lord Commander, Jon."

Jon smiled. "By who?" he said, looking for his friends, thinking it must be a joke.

A morose-looking man stood up. "By me. Aye, it's a terrible cruel thing to do to a friend, but better you than me."

Lord Janos started sputtering again. "This, this is an outrage. We ought to hang this _boy_. Yes! Hang him, I say, hang him for a turncloak and a warg, along with his friend Mance Rayder. Lord _Commander?_ I will not have it, I will not suffer it!"

A tall, dignified man stood up, " _You_ will not suffer it? Might be you had those gold cloaks trained to lick your bloody arse, but you're wearing a black cloak now."

A dozen men started to talk at once, but it was Ser Allister Throne who leapt on to a table, and raised his hands for quiet. " _Brothers!"_ he cried. "This gains us naught. I say we vote. This _king_ who has taken the King's Tower has posted men at all the doors to see that we do not eat nor leave till we have made a choice. So be it! We will choose, and choose again, all night if need be, until we have our lord…but before we cast our tokens, I believe our First Builder has something to say to us."

A burly man stood slowly, frowning, "Well, I'm pulling my name out. If you wanted me, you had ten chances to choose me, and you didn't. Not enough of you, anyway. I was going to say that those who were casting a token for me ought to choose Lord Janos…"

Ser Allister nodded, "Lord Slynt is the best possible-"

"I wasn't _done,_ Allister," the First builder complained. "Lord Slynt commanded the City Watch in King's Landing, we all know, and he was Lord of Harrenhal…"

"He's never _seen_ Harrenhal," someone shouted.

"Well, that's so… Anyway, now that I'm standing here, I don't recall why I thought Slynt would be such a good choice. That would be sort of kicking King Stannis in the mouth, and I don't see how that serves us. Might be Snow would be better. He's been longer on the Wall, he's Ben Stark's nephew, and he served the Old Bear as a squire." The man shrugged, "Pick who you want, just so it's not me." He sat.

Janos Slynt had turned from red to purple, and Selene was vastly enjoying herself.

Slowly, men were taking up a chant. It took Selene a few moments to understand what they were saying. " _Kettle, kettle, KETTLE!"_

The kettle was in the corner of the hearth, a big black thing with two handles and a heavy lid. Maester Aemon said a word to Sam and he went with another boy to grab and drag the kettle over to the table. A few of the brothers were already lining up to throw their tokens in and cast their vote. Sam took the lid of and almost dropped it on his foot. With a scream and a clap of wings, a huge raven burst from the kettle. It flapped upward, seeking the rafters or window, but there was nothing for it. The raven, trapped and cawing loudly, circled the hall several times.

"I know that bird!" Samwell shouted. "That's Lord Commander Mormont's raven!"

The raven landed on the table nearest Jon. " _Snow,"_ it cawed. It was an old bird, and dirty. " _Snow,"_ it said again. " _Snow, snow, snow._ " It walked to the edge of the table, spread its wings, and flew to Jon's shoulder.

Lord Janos sat so hard that he made a _thump,_ but Ser Allister filled the vaults with mocking laughter. "Ser Piggy thinks we're all fools, brothers," he said. "He's taught the bird this little trick. They all say _snow,_ go up to the rookery and hear for yourselves. Mormont's bird had more words than that."

The raven cocked its head and looked at Jon. " _Corn?_ " it said hopefully. When it got neither corn nor answer, it _quorked_ and muttered, " _Kettle? Kettle? Kettle?"_

The tokens were arrowheards, a torrent of arrowheads, a flood of arrowheads, arrowheads enough to drown the last few stones and shell tokens, and all the copper pennies too.

When the count was done, Jon was being clapped on the back with a stunned expression, while others bent the knee to him as if he were a lord in truth. Half a hundred pressed around him, "Gods be good, our Lord Commander's still in his swaddling clothes."

"I hope this don't mean I can't beat the bloody piss out of you the next time we train, my lord."

"Will you want your meals sent to your solar from now on?"

"Lord Snow, if you muck this up, I'm going to rip your liver out and eat it raw with onions."

The king's men cleared the door when they told them of the choosing, and half a dozen went to fetch supper. Jon did not wait to eat. He walked off across the castle, looking like he was in a trance, with a raven on his shoulder, and Ghost and Selene on his heels. His friends trailed after him, chattering.

"Sam _did_ it!" Grenn whispered.

The elvish one, Pyp _,_ had brought a wineskin with him, and he took a long drink and chanted, "Sam, Sam, Sam the wizard, Sam the wonder, Sam Sam the marvel man, he did it. But when did you hide the raven in the kettle, Sam, and how in seven hells could you be certain it would fly to Jon? It would have mucked up everything if the bird had decided to perch on Janos Slynt's fat head."

"Sure, I may have convinced Mallister and Pyke to withdraw their bids, but I had nothing to do with the bird," Sam insisted. "When it flew out of the kettle I almost wet myself."

Jon laughed, and Selene couldn't remember the last time she heard the sound, "You're all a bunch of mad fools, do you know that?"

"Us?" said Pyp. "You call _us_ fools? We're not the ones who got chosen as the nine-hundreth-and-ninety-eight Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. You best have some wine, Lord Jon. I think you're going to need a _lot_ of wine."

Jon took the wineskin from his friend's hand and had a swallow, but only one, Selene noticed. She felt a swirling in her chest, and knew it was Jon she was feeling. Worry about Stannis, fear of failing as Lord Commander, happiness at being chosen for command, and sadness for…for Selene.

_I'm sorry, Selene._ Jon's mouth was closed, but she heard his voice as if he had said the words aloud.

"Don't be," Selene said with a smile. "I'm so proud of you." She stood before him as he talked to his friends, pretending it was her he was looking at. Selene reached forward and caressed his face lightly with the back of her fingers. Her fingers felt nothing but air, like she knew they would, but Jon froze, closed his eyes, and breathed in deep. His face relaxed, and a light smile rose to his lips.

_Perhaps he can't see me, but he can feel me,_ Selene thought. And for now that was enough. It had to be.

###

It must have been midday when Selene appeared abovedecks. The _Shy Maid_ was moving through the fog like a blind man feeling his way down an unfamiliar hall.

Septa Lemore was praying. The mist muffled the sound of her voice, making it seem small and hushed. Griff paced the deck, mail clunking softly beneath his wolfskin cloak. From time to time he touched his sword, as if to make certain that it was still there.

"I do not like this place," Haldon Halfmaester muttered.

"Frightened of a little fog?" mocked Tyrion, when his eyes met hers, he smiled and said, "Someone had a lie in."

Selene didn't answer. She walked to the stern of the boat, staring out into the dark fog, mind a thousand leagues away. _I should be happy for him. I know I should be._ Then why was she crying?

A wave of shame crashed over her. _I wanted him to send for me. I wanted to be his. To have a normal life in the Seven Kingdoms instead of this strange place._ What would be normal? Could she live in Winterfell with Jon _Stark?_ That thought was nearly as foreign as the Rhoyne.

_I wanted him to want me._

Young Griff walked up uneasily, "Jo?"

Selene wiped at her eyes roughly, "Shouldn't you be in lessons?"

"We're all on deck to help with the fog, but you're crying." He leaned in close, "If I did anything to upset you, Jo, I'm so so-"

Selene chuckled, "No, Young Griff. It wasn't you." _You're handsome and kind, but it's not you I yearn for, may the gods forgive me for my selfishness._

Young Griff look relieved, "Good, because I-I….I care for you Joanna."

_That is not my name,_ Selene thought. _I am so much more._

From the distance, there was a sharp shriek.

The crew shuddered.

"This is no common fog, Hugor," Ysilla insisted. "It stinks of sorcery. Many voyagers have been lost here. They wander forlorn through the mists, searching for a sun they cannot find until madness or hunger claims their lives. There are restless spirits in the air here and tormented souls beneath the water."

"There's one now," said Selene, quick to let the fog distract her. Off to starboard a hand large enough to crush the boat was reaching up from the murky depths. Only the tops of two fingers broke the river's surface, but as the boat eased past she could see the rest of the hand rippling below the water and a pale face looking up. Though her tone was light, she was uneasy. This was a bad place, rank with despair and death. _This fog is not natural._

"You should not mock," warned Ysilla. "The whispering dead hate the warm and quick and ever seek for more damned souls to join them."

"I doubt they have a shroud my size," Tyrion stirred the coals in the brazier with a poker.

"Hatred does not stir the stone men half so much as hunger." Haldon Halfmaester had wrapped a yellow scarf around his mouth and nose, muffling his voice. "Nothing any sane man would want to eat grows in these fogs. Thrice each year the triarchs of Volantis send a galley upriver with provisions, but the mercy ships are oft late and sometimes bring more mouths than food."

Young Griff said, "There must be fish in the river."

"I would not eat any fish taken from these waters," said Ysilla.

"We'd do well not to breathe the fog either," said Haldon. "Garin's Curse is all about us."

_The only way not to breathe the fog is not to breathe. "_ Garin's Curse is only greyscale," said Selene. The curse was oft seen in children, especially in damp, cold climates. The afflicted flesh stiffened and cracked. "My cousin has greyscale." _Poor little Shireen._ "Damp is said to be the cause, foul humors in the air. Not curses."

"The conquerors did not believe either, Joanna," said Ysilla. "The men of Volantis and Valyria hung Garin in a golden cage and made mock as he called upon his Mother to destroy them. But in the night the waters rose and drowned them, and from that day to this they have not rested. They are down there still beneath the water, they who were once the lords of fire. Their cold breaths rise from the murk to make these fogs, and their flesh has turned as stony as their hearts."

Young Griff did not seem to share her misgivings, "Let them try and trouble us, we'll show them what we're made of."

"We are made of blood and bone, in the image of the Father and the Mother," said Septa Lemore. "Make no boasts, I beg you. Pride is a grievous sin. The stone men were proud as well, and the Shrouded Lord was proudest of them all."

The heat from the glowing coals brought a flush to Tyrion's face, "I thought the Shrouded Lord was just a ghost story."

"The Shrouded Lord has ruled these mists since Garin's day," said Yandry. "Some say that he himself is Garin, risen from his watery grave."

"The dead do not rise," insisted Haldon, "and no man lives a thousand years. Yes, there is a Shrouded Lord. There have been a score of them. When one dies another takes his place. This one is a pirate from the Basilisk Isles who believed the Rhoyne would offer richer pickings than the Summer Sea."

"Aye, I've heard that too," said Duck, "but there's another tale I like better. The one that says he's not like t'other stone men, that he started as a statue till a grey woman came out of the fog and kissed him with lips as cold as ice."

" _Enough,"_ said Griff. "Be quiet, all of you."

Septa Lemore sucked in her breath, " _What was that?"_

"Where?" Selene saw nothing but fog.

"Something moved. I saw the water rippling."

"A turtle," the prince announced cheerfully. "A big snapper, that's all it was." He thrust his pole out ahead of them and pushed them away from a towering green obelisk.

The fog clung to them, damp and chilly. A sunken temple loomed up out of the greyness and Yandry and Duck leaned upon their poles. They passed a marble stair that spiraled up from the mud and ended jaggedly in air. More shapes appeared, broken parts of castles once large and beautiful.

_I hate this. I hate this fog. I hate this place._ Selene felt like she was starting to go mad.

Through the long grey fingers of the fog, she heard again the deep shuddering _thrum_ of a crossbow bolt setting loose, and the chaos she heard when the great hall at the Twins exploded with battle. She heard the light strings of the Rains of Castamere, the sound of Robb choking on his own blood, and her own wails. Her stomach cramped, and she felt the familiar sensation of a knife in her core, of her child's life blood seeping between her legs.

"How much more of this fog must we endure?" Selene called out, trying to keep her voice under control. _I'm not sure how much longer I can take this agony of remembering. I may end up throwing myself headlong into the Rhoyne._

"Another hour should see us clear of the Sorrows," said Haldon Halfmaester. "From there on, this should be a pleasure cruise-"

"Light ahead," warned Young Griff.

Selene saw it too. The light grew brighter as the _Shy Maid_ approached it. A soft star in the distance, it glimmered faintly through the fog, beckoning them on. Shortly it became two lights, then three: a ragged row of beacons rising from the water.

"The Bridge of Dreams," Griff named it. "There will be stone men on the span. Some may start to wail at our approach, but they are not like to molest us. Most stone men are feeble creatures, clumsy, lumbering, witless. Near the end they all go mad, but that is when they are most dangerous. If need be, fend them off with the torches. On no account let them touch you."

"They may not even see us," said Haldon Halfmaester. "The fog will hide us until we are almost at the bridge, and then we will be past before they know that we are here."

Ahead of them, the bridge grew larger. _The Bridge of Dreams,_ Griff called it, but these dreams were smashed and broken. Pale stone arches marched off into the fog, half of them collapsed, pulled down by the weight of the grey moss that draped them. As the _Shy Maid_ drew closer, Selene could see the shapes of stone men moving in the light, shuffling aimlessly around the lamps like slow grey moths. Some were naked, others clad in shrouds.

Griff drew his longsword, "Hugor, light the torches. Lad, take Lemore back to her cabin and stay with her."

Young Griff gave his father a stubborn look, "Lemore knows where her cabin is. I want to stay."

"We are sworn to protect you," Lemore said softly.

"I don't need to be protected. I can use a sword as well as Duck. I'm half a knight."

"And half a boy," said Griff. "Do as you're told. Now."

The youth cursed under his breath and flung his pole down onto the deck. "Why should I run and hide? Haldon is staying, Ysilla and Hugor too. Even Joanna."

"Yes," said Selene, something in the fog making her antagonistic, "but I'm a better swordsman."

"You're a _girl,_ " Young Griff said pointedly.

"My secret is revealed," Selene agreed, growing livid and reckless. _Quite a dangerous combination. Is it the fog? Or have I just finally cracked?_ "I'm less than Duck, and no one give's a mummer's fart whether I live or die." _Least of all me,_ "You, though…you are everything."

"Girl," Griff said testily, "I'm warning you."

A wail came shivering through the fog, faint and high.

Lemore whirled, trembling, "Seven save us."

Forty feet above them on the bridge, stone men moaned and muttered. Most took no more notice of the boat than of a drifting log. Selene clutched her sword tighter and found that she was holding her breath. And then they were beneath the bridge, white walls heavy with curtains of grey fungus on either side, water foaming angrily around them. A few heartbeats later they were clear.

Selene had no sooner exhaled than Young Griff grabbed hold of her arm roughly, "What do you mean? I am _everything?_ What did you mean by that? Why am I everything?"

"Why," said Selene, drawing her arm back sharply, "if the stone men had taken Yandry or Griff or Lemore, we would have grieved for them and gone on. Lose _you,_ and this whole enterprise is undone, and all those years of feverish plotting by the cheesemonger and the eunuch will have been for nothing…isn't that so?"

The boy looked to Griff, "She knows who I am."

_If I did not know before, I would now._ By then the _Shy Maid_ was well downstream of the bridge.

"You're Young Griff, son of Griff the sellsword," said Tyrion, giving Selene a savage pinch on the leg, "Isn't that right, Joanna?"

Selene wasn't done, "Or perhaps you are the Warrior in mortal guise. Let me take a closer look," she snatched Tyrion's torch and held it up to the boy's face.

"Leave off," said Griff, "or you will wish you had."

Selene ignored him, "The blue hair makes your eyes seem blue, that's good. And the tale of how you color it in honor of your dead Tyroshi mother was so touching it almost made me cry. Still, a curious person might wonder why some sellsword's whelp would need a septa to instruct him in the Faith, or a chainless maester to tutor him in history and tongues. And a clever person might question why your father would engage a hedge knight to train you in arms instead of simply sending you off to apprentice with one of the companies. It is almost as if someone wanted to keep you hidden while still preparing you for…what? Now, there's a puzzle, but I'm sure in time it will come to me. I must say, you have noble features for a dead boy."

Young Griff flushed, " _I am not dead._ "

Selene straightened, watching this princeling. _I can't believe I let myself believe my own lie. I wanted to forget who I was so badly that I did. I am not Joanna Hill. I am not a bastard._

Selene remembered herself.

"How not? My lord grandfather wrapped your corpse in a crimson cloak and laid you down beside your sister at the foot of the Iron Throne, his gift to the new king, my father. Those who had the stomach to lift the cloak said half your head was gone."

The lad backed off a step, confused, "Your-?"

"- _father,_ yes. Robert Baratheon the First of His Name. Perhaps you may have heard of him?"

Young Griff hesitated, " _Baratheon_? Your father-"

"—is dead. At my mother's hand. If it pleases Your Grace to call me Jo, so be it, but know that I was born Princess Selene of House Baratheon, trueborn daughter of King Robert and Queen Cersei of House Lannister and rightful heir to the throne. I lived as Queen Regnant and am the widow of the Young Wolf Robb Stark, who was King in the North. The man you call _Hugor_ is my Uncle Tyrion of House Lannister, son of Lord Tywin and Lady Joanna, rightful heir to Casterly Rock. But then, we are in a company of liars, are we not uncle?"

Tyrion was initially averse to revealing their identities, but once Selene opened the gates, Tyrion's troublemaking were given free reign. He sniggered, "Truly, my dear niece. Take your feigned father, young prince. _Griff,_ is it? You should thank the gods Varys the Spider is a part of this plot of yours. _Griff_ would not have fooled the cockless wonder for an instant, no more than it did me. _No lord,_ my lordship says, _no knight._ And I'm no dwarf. Just saying it does not make it true. Who better to raise Prince Rhaegar's infant son that Prince Rhaegar's dear friend Jon Connington, once Lord of Griffin's Roost and Hand of the King?"

"Be quiet," Griff's voice was uneasy.

Young Griff recoiled in horror, "You-you're Robert's _daughter?"_ His voice was full of disgust. "And I _kissed you._ "

_I knew it. I'm no longer the bold bastard girl who exists solely for his entertainment. I'm the daughter of his family's greatest enemy._

" _What?_ " Tyrion and Griff exclaimed at the same time. Griff rounded on the young prince, "I _told_ you to stay away from her." Griff turned savagely toward Selene, " _W_ _hore._ "

" _Enough,"_ Tyrion said darkly, while Selene drew her sword.

"I have wanted to skewer you since I first knew who you were, rebel's spawn," Griff spat at her. "Do not give me the opportunity, or you will regret it.

"Come on then," Selene challenged.

"ENOUGH!" bellowed Ysilla. "This is Garin's curse. It is making us fight."

Griff growled, "I do not need a curse to desire Baratheon blood."

Selene snarled, while Tyrion grabbed the red-hot poker and stood by her side, "She's not alone, my lord."

" _I am no lord!_ "

Selene smiled cruelly, "Not since the Mad King exiled you. Not since my father killed your precious silver prince."

Griff roared and charged. She leapt forward and met his blow. With a shove, they pushed off each other and circled.

Septa Lemore threw herself between them " _Enough._ Can't you see?"

"I do see, Septa," Griff answered. "I see the daughter of the man I kill every night in my sweetest dreams."

Selene was about to hurl something back when Lemore slapped him hard on the face, "I meant _outside_ the boat. _Look!"_

Selene looked. She saw stone fingers breaking the surface of the water. Peering through mist, she glimpsed a broken spire, a headless stature, an ancient tree… _Why does all of this seem familiar?_

Straight on, they passed a marble stair that spiraled up from the mud and ended jaggedly in air. _No,_ thought Selene, _that is not possible._

_"_ Ahead," Lemore's voice was shivery. "A light."

All of them looked. All of them saw it.

No one said a word. The _Shy Maid_ moved with the current. Her sail had not been raised since she was first entered the Sorrows. She had no way to move but with the river. Duck stood squinting, clutching his pole with both hands. After a time even Yandry stopped pushing. Every eye was on the distant light. As they grew closer, it turned into two lights. And then three.

"The Bridge of Dreams," said Tyrion.

"Inconceivable," said Haldon Halfmaester. "We've left the bridge behind. Rivers only run one way."

"Mother Rhoyne runs as she will," murmured Yandry.

"Seven save us," said Lemore.

Up ahead, the stone men on the span began to wail. A few were pointing down at them. "Haldon, get the prince below," commanded Griff.

It was too late. The current had them in its teeth. They drifted toward the bridge. Yandry stabbed out with his pole to keep them from smashing into a pier. The thrust shoved them sideways, through a curtain of pale grey moss. Selene felt tendrils brush against her face, soft as a lover's fingers. Then there was a crash behind her, and the deck tilted so suddenly that she almost lost her feet and went pitching over the side.

A stone man crashed down into the boat.

He landed on the cabin roof, so heavily that the _Shy Maid_ seemed to rock, and roared a word down at them in a tongue that Selene did not know. A second stone man followed, landing back beside the tiller. The weathered planks splintered beneath the impact, and Ysilla let out a shriek.

Duck was closest to her. The big man wasted no time reaching for his sword, instead swinging his pole, slamming into the stone man's chest and knocking him off the boat, into the river, where he sank at once without a sound.

Griff was on the second man the instant he fell down off the cabin roof. With a sword in his right hand and a torch in his left, he drove the creature backwards. As the current swept the boat beneath the bridge, their shifting shadows danced upon the mossy walls. When the stone man moved, Duck blocked his way, pole in hand. When he went forward, Haldon waved a second torch at him and drove him back. He had no choice but to come straight at Griff. The captain slid aside, his blade flashing. A spark flew where the steel bit into stone flesh, but his arm tumbled to the deck. Griff kicked the limb aside. Yandry and Duck had come up with their poles. Together, they forced the creature over the side and into the black waters.

By then, the _Shy Maid_ had drifted out from under the broken bridge. "Did we get them all?" asked Duck. "How many jumped?"

"Two," said Selene, shivering.

"Three," said Haldon. "Behind you."

Selene turned, and there he stood.

The leap had shattered one of his legs, and a jagged piece of pale bone jutted out through the rotted cloth of his breeches and the grey meat beneath. The broken bone was speckled with brown blood, but still he lurched forward, reaching for Young Griff. His hand was grey and stiff, but blood oozed between his knuckles as he tried to close his fingers to gasp. The boy stood staring, as still as if he too were made of stone. His hand was on his sword hilt, but he seemed to have forgotten why.

Selene kicked the lad's legs out from under him and leapt over where he fell, thrusting a torch into the stone man's face to send him stumbling backwards on his shattered leg, flailing at the flames with stiff grey hands. Selene went after him, slashing with the torch, jabbing with her sword. _A little farther. Back, one more step, another._ They were at the edge of the deck when the creature rushed her, grabbed the torch, and ripped it from her hands. _Bugger me,_ Selene thought unladylikely.

The stone man flung the torch away. There was a soft _hiss_ as the black waters quenched the flames. The stone man howled. He had been a Summer Islander before, his jaw and half of his face stone, but the rest of him was black as midnight.

" _Stand aside!"_ someone shouted, far away, another voice screamed, "Selene!" and another, "The prince! Protect the boy!"

The stone man staggered forward, his hands outstretched and grasping.

Selene drove a shoulder into him.

It felt like slamming into a castle wall, but this castle stood upon a shattered leg. The stone man went over backwards, grabbing hold of Selene as he fell. They hit the river with a towering splash, and Mother Rhoyne swallowed them up.

The sudden cold hit Selene like a hammer. As she sank she felt a stone hand fumbling at her face. Another closed around her arm, dragging her down into darkness. Blind, her nose full of river, choking, sinking, she kicked and twisted and fought to pry the clutching fingers off her arm, but the stone fingers were unyielding. Air bubbled from her lips. The world was black and growing blacker. She could not breathe.

_There are worse ways to die than drowning._ And if truth be told, she had perished long ago, back on the kingsroad from the Twins to King's Landing. It was only the remnant that remained, the vengeful ghost who lost her father, husband, and son to blood and violence. Absurdly, golden images flashed in her brain. Tommen and Myrcella playing with Eleni in the courtyard at the Red Keep. Training with Ser Barristan. Riding with her father in the kingswood. Dancing in Winterfell with Robb. Lying on her back beside Jon in that cave near the Wall.

When she opened her mouth to call to them all, black water filled her lungs, and darkness closed in around her.


	46. Which Game?

Selene dreamt of her grandfather and the Shrouded Lord. She dreamt that they were one and the same, and when her grandfather wrapped stone arms around her and bent to give her a grey kiss, she woke with her mouth dry and rusty with the taste of blood and her heart hammering in her chest.

"Our dead princess has returned to us," Haldon said.

Selene shook her head to clear away the nightmares. _The Sorrows. I was lost in the Sorrows._ "I am not dead," she said matter-of-factly.

"That remains to be seen," The Halfmaester stood over her. "Duck, be a fine fowl and boil some broth for our friend here. She must be famished."

She was on the _Shy Maid,_ Selene saw, under a scratchy blanket that smelled of vinegar. _The Sorrows are behind us. It was just a dream. I dreamt that I drowned._ "Why do I smell like vinegar?"

"Lemore has been washing you with it. Some say it helps prevent greyscale. I am inclined to doubt that, but there was no harm in trying. It was Lemore who forced the water from your lungs after Young Griff pulled you up. You were as cold as ice, and your lips were blue. Yandry said we ought to throw you back, but the lad forbade it."

_The prince._ Memory came rushing back: the stone man reaching out with cracked grey hands, the blood seeping from his knuckles. _He was as heavy as a boulder, pulling me under._ "Young Griff brought me up?" She looked over and saw him leaning against the prow of the boat in dry clothes, his wet hair the only hint he was recently in the Rhoyne.

Selene stared at him, dumfounded. _After everything I said…_ "Thank you."

Young Griff nodded solemnly.

"Where are we?"

"Selhorys." Haldon produced a small knife from his sleeve. "Here," he said, tossing it underhand to her.

Selene flinched. The knife landed between her feet and stood quivering in the deck. She picked it up. "What's this?"

"Take off your boots. Prick each of your toes and fingers."

"Sounds painful."

"I hope so. Do it."

Selene yanked off one boot and then the other, squinting at her toes. It seemed to her they looked no better or worse than usual. She poked gingerly at one big toe.

"Harder," said the Halfmaester.

"Do you want me to draw blood?"

"If need be."

"I'll have a scar on every toe."

"The purpose of the exercise is not to count your toes. I want to see you wince. So long as the pricks hurt, you are safe. It is only when you cannot feel the blade that you will have cause to fear."

_Greyscale,_ Selene grimaced. _Like Shireen._ She stabbed another toe, cursing as a bead of blood welled up around the knife's point. "That hurt. Are you happy?"

"Dancing with joy."

"Your feet smell worse than mine, Joanna." Duck handed her a cup of broth. "Griff warned you not to lay hands on the stone men."

"Yes, but he forgot to warn the stone men not to lay their hands on me."

"As you prick, look for patches of dead grey skin, for nails beginning to turn black," said Haldon. "If you see such signs, do not hesitate. Better to lose a toe than a foot. Better to lose an arm than spend your days wailing on the Bridge of Dreams. Now the other foot, if you please. Then your fingers."

Selene reached over and began to prick her other foot, swallowing nervously. She made sure to prick hard and was relieved with the pain. She drove the dagger's point into the ball of her thumb, watching the blood bead up, and sucked it away. "How long must I continue to torture myself? When will we be sure I'm clean?"

"Truly?" said the Halfmaester. "Never. You swallowed half the river. You may be going grey even now, turning to stone from inside out, starting with your heart and lungs. When you're done, come have some broth."

The broth was good, though Selene noted that the Halfmaester kept the table between them as he ate. The _Shy Maid_ was moored to a weathered pier on the east bank of the Rhoyne. Two piers down, a Volantene river galley was discharging soldiers. Shops and stalls and storehouses huddled beneath a sandstone wall. The towers and domes of the city were visible beyond it, reddened by the light of the setting sun.

_No, not a city._ Selhorys was still accounted a mere town and was ruled from Old Volantis. This was not Westeros.

Lemore emerged on deck with Tyrion in tow. His eyes were red, but when he saw Selene awake, he rushed across the deck to hug her. " _Gods,_ niece. Never scare me like that."

"I wouldn't touch her if I were you," Ysilla warned.

Tyrion ignored her, tilting Selene's chin up, "You can't die on me. I won't let you." He kissed her forehead.

Selene felt warm inside. She smiled, "I'm sorry I scared you."

"The Mother is merciful," Lemore said kindly. "We have prayed for you, Joanna."

_You and Tyrion did, at least._

Selene looked over at Young Griff. _Should I call him Aegon now?_ She joined him as his brooded.

"Youn…Aegon," she began. He looked up at her as she cleared her throat, "Why did you do it?"

The prince frowned, "What?"

"After everything I said," Selene explained, "why did you save my life? You could have let me die."

Aegon shook his head, "Truly? I don't know. After I found out who you were," he paused, " _are…_ I thought I wanted you dead. But then you put yourself between me and the stoneman. And when you fell overboard…I didn't even think. I just jumped in after you, J- …Selene."

Selene nodded, "I owe you my life."

Aegon gave her a rueful smile, "Don't mention it. Truly, please don't mention it. After what your father did to mine, I should have let you die as vengeance."

"But you did not," Selene observed.

"No, I did not. I don't believe you're evil. You didn't deserve to die like that."

Selene straightened, "Perhaps this can be a new start for us. For our houses. Just because our fathers were enemies doesn't mean we have to be."

Aegon gave her a skeptical look, "You think we can be friends?"

"Perhaps that's a bit of a stretch right now while everything is still fresh, but…" Selene struggled to find the right words, "We're on the same boat, headed in the same direction. We can start there."

He nodded carefully, "Perhaps." As Selene moved to leave, he reached out and grabbed her arm. "I'm sorry for how I acted about-" he blushed, "about-"

"Don't worry about it." _If the situation was reversed, I can't imagine I would act so differently._

The lad seemed relieved.

Aside from that exchange, the prince was in a sullen mood, angry that he had been forced to stay on the _Shy Maid_ instead of going ashore with Yandry.

"We only want to keep you safe," Lemore told him. "These are unsettled times."

Haldon Halfmaeser explained, "On the way down from the Sorrows, we thrice glimpsed riders moving south along the river's eastern shore. Dothraki. Once they were so close we could hear the bells tinkling in their braids, and sometimes at night their fires could be seen beyond the eastern hills. We passed warships as well, Volantene river galleys crammed with slave soldiers. The triarchs fear an attack upon Selhorys, plainly."

Selene understood that quick enough. Alone amongst the major river towns, Selhorys stood upon the eastern bank of the Rhoyne, making it much more vulnerable to the horselords. _Even so, it is a small prize. If I were khal, I would feint at Selhorys, let the Volantenes rush to defend it, then swing south and ride hard for Volantis itself._ The thought surprised her. Perhaps she had learned more from the war councils with the northern lords and the Blackfish than she realized.

"I know how to use a sword," Young Griff was insisting.

"Even the bravest of your forebears kept his Kingsguard close about him in times of peril." Lemore had changed out of her septa's robes and into garb more befitting the wife or the daughter of a prosperous merchant.

Haldon took note of her change of garb as well. "What are we to make of this sudden loss of faith? I preferred you in your septa's robes, Lemore."

"I preferred her naked," said Tyrion.

Lemore gave him a reproachful look, "That is because you are a wicked soul. Septa's robes scream of Westeros and might draw unwelcome eyes to us."

The lad did not seem appeased. _The perfect prince but still half a boy for all that, with little and less experience of the world and all its woes._

"Prince Aegon," said Selene, "since we're stuck aboard this boat, perhaps you will honor me with a game of _cyvasse_ to while away the hours."

The prince gave her a wary look, "I am sick of _cyvasse._ "

"Sick of losing to a girl, you mean?"

That pricked the lad's pride, just as Selene knew it would. "Go fetch the board and pieces. This time I mean to smash you."

Selene shook her head and laughed, "Spoken like a true prince. Get them yourself."

Aegon hesitated, but did.

They played on deck, sitting cross-legged behind the cabin. The princeling arrayed his army for attack, with dragon, elephants, and heavy horse up front. _A young man's formation, as bold as it is foolish. He risks all for a quick kill._ It made her appreciate Robb's gift for strategy all the more. She let the prince have the first move. Tyrion stood behind Selene, watching them play.

When the prince reached for his dragon, Selene cleared her throat, "I would not do that if I were you. It is a mistake to bring your dragon out too soon," she smiled innocently. "Your father knew the dangers of being overbold."

"Much to his peril," the lad said softly.

Selene moved an elephant forward, "Lord Connington was the prince's dearest friend, was he not?"

Aegon pushed a blue lock out of his eyes, "They were squires together in King's Landing."

"A true friend, our Lord Connington. He must be, to remain so fiercely loyal to the grandson of the king who took his lands and titles and sent him into exile. A pity about that. Elsewise Prince Rhaegar's friend might have been on hand when my grandfather sacked King's Landing, to save Prince Rhaegar's precious little son from getting his royal brains dashed out an against a wall."

The lad flushed, "That was not me. I told you. That was some tanner's son from Pisswater Bend whose mother died birthing him. His father sold him to Lord Varys for a jug of Arbor gold. He had other sons but had never tasted Arbor gold. Varys gave the Pisswater boy to my lady mother and carried me away."

"How convenient," Selene moved her light horse, "and when the pisswater prince was dead, the eunuch smuggled you across the narrow sea to his fat friend the cheesemonger, who hid you on a poleboat and found an exile lord willing to call himself your father. It does make for a splendid story, and the singers will make much of your escape once you take the Iron Throne…assuming the fair Daenerys takes you as her husband."

"She will. She must."

Selene laughed, " _Must?_ " She _tsk_ ed, "Trust me, Your Grace, that is not a word queens like to hear. You are her perfect prince, agreed, bright and bold and comely as any maid would wish. Daenerys Targaryen is no maid, however. She is the widow of a Dothraki khal, a mother of dragons, and a sacker of cities, Aegon the Conqueror with teats. She may not prove as willing as you wish."

"She'll be willing," Prince Aegon sounded shocked. It was plain that he had never before considered the possibility that his bride-to-be might refuse him. "You don't know her." He picked up his heavy horse and put it down with a _thump._

Tyrion spoke up from behind Selene. "We know that she spent her childhood in exile, impoverished, living on dreams and schemes, running from one city to the next, always fearful, never safe, friendless but for a brother who was by all accounts half-mad…a brother who sold her maidenhood to the Dothraki for the promise of an army. We know that somewhere out upon the grass her dragons hatched, and so did she. We know she is proud. How not? What else was left to her but pride? We know she is strong. How not? The Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenerys had been weak, she would have perished with Viserys. We know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen are proof enough of that. She has crossed the grasslands and the red waste, survived assassins and conspiracies and fell sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, trod the cities of the slavers to dust beneath her dainty sandaled feet. Now, how do you suppose this queen will react when you turn up with your begging bowl in hand as say, 'Good morrow to you, Auntie. I am your nephew, Aegon, returned from the dead. I've been hiding on a poleboat all my life, but now I've washed the blue dye from my hair and I would like a dragon, please…and oh, did I mention, my claim to the Iron Throne is stronger than your own?"

Aegon's mouth twisted in fury, "I will _not_ come to my aunt a beggar. I will come to her as a kinsman, with an army."

"A small army," Selene said. _There, that's made him good and angry._ She could not help but think of Joffrey. _I have a gift for angering princes._ "Daenerys has a large one, and no thanks to you." Selene moved her crossbows.

"Say what you will. She will be my bride, Lord Connington will see to it. I trust him as much as if he were my own blood."

"That's what I was trying to tell you earlier. _Trust no one,_ Aegon. Not your chainless maester, not your false father, not the gallant Duck or the lovely Lemore nor these other fine friends who raised you. Above all, don't trust the cheesemonger or the eunuch, or this little dragon queen you mean to marry. All that mistrust will sour your stomach and keep you awake at night, it's true, but better that than the long sleep that does not end." Selene pushed her black dragon across a range of mountains. "But what do I know? I've only ruled over four kingdoms. I'd do things differently."

That got the boy's attention, "How differently?"

"If I were you? I would go west instead of east. Land in Dorne and raise my banners. The Seven Kingdoms will never be more ripe for conquest than they are right now. My brother sits the throne and is only a boy. The north is in chaos, the riverlands a devastation, a rebel holds Storm's End and Dragonstone. When winter comes, the realm will starve. And who remains to deal with all of this, who rules my brother? Why, my own mother. There is no one else. My uncle, Jaime, thirsts for battle, not for power. He's run from every chance he's had to rule. My great uncle Kevan would make a passably good regent if someone pressed the duty on him, but he would never reach for it. The gods shaped him to be a follower, not a leader." _Well, the gods and my lord grandfather._ "Mace Tyrell would grasp the scepter gladly, but my own kin are not like to step aside and give it to him. And everyone hates Stannis. Who does that leave? Why, only my mother."

"Westeros is torn and bleeding, and I do not doubt that even now my own dear mother is binding up the wounds…with salt. Cersei is as gentle as King Maegor, as selfless as Aegon the Unworthy, as wise as Mad Aerys. She never forgets a slight, real or imagined. She takes caution for cowardice and dissent for defiance. And she is greedy. Greedy for power, for honor, for love. Tommen's rule is bolstered by all the alliances that my grandfather built so carefully, but soon enough she will destroy them, every one. Land and raise your banners, and men will flock to your cause. Lords great and small, and smallfolk too. But do not wait too long. The tide that lifts you now will soon recede. Be certain you reach Westeros before my mother falls and someone more competent takes her place."

"But," Aegon said, "without Daenerys and her dragons, how could we hope to win?"

"You do not _need_ to win," Tyrion explained. "All you need to do is raise your banners, rally your supporters, and hold, until Daenerys arrives to join her strength to yours."

"Selene said she might not have me."

"Perhaps she overstated. Daenerys may take pity on you when you come begging for her hand." Tyrion shrugged, "Do you want to wager your throne upon a woman's whim? Go to Westeros, though…ah, then you are a rebel, not a beggar. Bold, reckless, a true son of House Targaryen, walking in the footsteps of Aegon the Conqueror. A _dragon._ I told you, we know the dragon queen. Let her hear that he brother Rhaegar's murdered son is still alive, that this brave boy has raised the dragon standard of her forebears in Westeros once more, that he is fighting a desperate war to avenge his father and reclaim the Iron Throne for House Targaryen hard-pressed on every side…and she will fly to your side as fast as wind and water can carry her. You are the last of her line, and this Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a _rescuer._ The girl who drowned the slaver cities in blood rather than leave strangers to their chains can scarcely abandon her brother's own son in his hour of peril. And when she reaches Westeros, and meets you for the first time, you will meet as equals, man and woman, not queen and supplicant. How can she help but love you then, I ask you?"

He narrowed his eyes at Tyrion, then Selene, "Why would you offer all of this counsel? What do you stand to gain?"

Selene stared at this prince. _I am helping a Targaryen._ She was loathe to think how her father would feel about that, but there were some things more important than honor. "My price is simple. My brother and sister. If you ever come into that throne of yours, you spare their lives and let them live with me in Storm's End, my rightful seat." Smiling, she seized her dragon and flew it across the board, "I hope Your Grace will pardon me. Your king is trapped. Death in four."

The prince stared at the playing board, "My dragon-"

"-is too far away to save you. You should have moved her to the center of the battle."

"But you said-"

"I lied. _Trust no one._ And keep your dragon close."

Aegon jerked to his feet and kicked over the board. _Cyvasse_ pieces flew in all directions, bouncing and rolling across the deck of the _Shy Maid._ "Pick those up," the boy commanded.

Selene laughed until there were tears in her eyes. _He may well be a Targaryen after all._ "Oh, sweet prince, this may come as a shock, but I am not yours to command." She rose, staring at him with eyes of steel, "Not now, not ever."

It was close to dusk when Yandry returned to the boat. A porter trotted at their heels, pushing a wheelbarrow of provisions. When he saw Selene, Yandry stopped suddenly, glared at her, and made a peculiar stabbing gesture with three of his fingers. _A sign to ward off evil._

"Let me help you with the fish," she offered.

"No," Yandry snapped. "Stay away. Touch no food besides the food you eat yourself."

Selene raised her hands, "As you command."

Ysilla thumped a wine cask onto the deck. "Where's Griff?" she demanded of Haldon.

"Asleep."

"Then rouse him. We have news. The queen's name is on every tongue in Selhorys. They say she sits in Meereen, sore beset. If the talk in the markets can be believed, Old Volantis will soon join the war against her."

Haldon pressed his lips, "The gossip of the fishmongers is not to be relied on. Still, I suppose Griff will want to hear. You know how he is." Haldon glanced at Selene, "Joanna, will you please go wake our fearless leader?"

_So I'm still Joanna, am I?_

Selene laughed, "Last time I saw Griff he nearly ran me through with a sword. Am I truly the best person for this task?"

Haldon didn't answer, only held her gaze.

Selene sighed, and went down below.

She knocked on his cabin door. _He better not go mad and stab me, or I'm going to kill Haldon._

A gruff voice responded, "This had better be good."

Selene cleared her throat, "News from Selhorys. Of the dragon queen."

Silence, and then, "Enter, girl."

Selene swallowed. Slowly, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It looked very much like Haldon's cabin, with two beds instead of one and without all the bits and bobs a maester would desire. This cabin was simpler, and Griff stood in it's center, staring at her with his pale blue eyes.

He coughed, "I believe apologies are in order."

_How thoughtful of him._ "I'm glad you feel that way."

Griff frowned, "Well..."

Selene's brows drew together, "Well…"

Griff grimaced, "I'm waiting."

Selene was taken aback, " _You're_ waiting _?_ " _I should have known._ "You called me a whore and tried to kill me."

"You revealed your identity to everyone. You didn't follow my commands."

"Forgive me, but it sounds like one is far worse than the other."

Griff took a deep breath, "You put yourself between the stoneman and the lad. Why?"

Selene didn't know why. It was something instinctual, but she knew what Griff wanted to hear, "I did it to save the prince."

Griff nodded, "I am sorry for one thing."

Selene had to fight her laughter, "And what is that?"

"For holding you accountable for the Usurper's crimes. It was not fair."

_Usurper? Crimes? A false apology,_ Selene thought fiercely, _but…_ "I thank you, my lord." _I don't need to be his friend, I just need him not to murder me in the middle of the night. I'll be content with that._

By the time the two of them appeared on deck, dinner was spitting and sizzling over the brazier while Ysilla hovered over it with a lemon, squeezing. Griff took Ysilla back to the tiller, where they spoke in low voices, too quietly for Selene to hear.

Finally, Griff beckoned to Haldon, "We need to know the truth of these rumors. Go ashore and learn what you can. Qavo will know, if you can find him. Try the Riverman and the Painted Turtle. You know his other places."

"Aye. I'll take the girl as well. Four ears hear more than two, and you know how Qavo is about his _cyvasse._ And how partial he is to a pretty face."

"As you wish. Be back before the sun comes up."

Tyrion spoke up, "Are you sure she will be safe? Maybe I should-"

"No," Haldon said. "Many of these people have never seen a dwarf before. It would call too much attention."

"I'll be fine, Tyrion," Selene smiled. _It will be a mercy to walk on land for a bit. And to look upon some fresh faces._

Dusk was giving way to darkness as they made their way along the riverfront. Some of the ships they passed appeared deserted. Others crawled with armed men who eyed them with suspicion. Under the twin walls, parchment lanterns had been lit above the stalls, throwing pools of light on the cobbled path. Selene heard the queer jumble of foreign tongues.

And the whores were out. River or sea, a port was a port, and wherever you found sailors, you found whores. _Is that what Grandfather meant? Is that where whores go? To the sea?_

A squad of Volantene spearmen stood guard at the river gate. Their helms were tiger masks, the faces beneath marked by green strips tattooed across both cheeks, The slave soldiers of Volantis were fiercely proud of their tiger stripes, Selene had read. _Do they yearn for freedom? s_ he wondered. _What would they do if that dragon queen bestowed it on them? What are they, if not tigers? What am I, if not a stag?_

One of the tigers spied Selene and said something that made the others laugh. As they reached the gate, he pulled off his clawed gauntlet and the sweaty glove beneath, and reached for Selene's face.

She jumped out of the way, hand on the dagger sheathed at her hip. "What was the reason for that?" she demanded of Haldon.

"He wanted to touch you," Haldon explained after a heated exchange with the guard in his own tongue.

Selene forced herself to smile at the man, "Tell him he can touch my blade."

"Best not. Tigers have been known to have sharp teeth."

A different guard gestured them through the gate, waving a torch at them impatiently. Haldon Halfmaester led the way into Selhorys, with Selene walking cautiously beside him. A great square opened up before them. Even at this hour, it was crowded and noisy and ablaze with light. Lanterns swung from iron chains above the doors of inns and pleasure houses, but within the gates, they were made of colored glass, not parchment. To their right a nightfire burned outside a temple of red stone. A priest in scarlet robes stood on the temple balcony, lecturing at the small crowd that had gathered around the flames. Elsewhere, travelers sat playing _cyvasse_ in front of an inn, drunken soldiers wandered in and out of what was obviously a brothel, a woman beat a mule outside a stable. A two-wheeled cart went rumbling past them, pulled by a white dwarf elephant. _This is another world,_ thought Selene, _but not so diferent from the world I know._

The square was dominated by a white marble statue of a headless man in ornate armor, astride a warhouse. "Who might that be?" wondered Selene.

"Triarch Horonno. A Volantene hero from the Century of Blood. He was returned as triarch every year for forty years, until he wearied of elections and declared himself triarch for life. The Volantenes were not amused. He was put to death soon after. Tied between two elephants and torn in half."

"His statue seems to lack a head."

"He was a tiger. When the elephants came to power, their followers went on a rampage, knocking the heads from the statues of those they blamed for all the wars and deaths." He shrugged, "That was another age. Come, we'd best hear what that priest is going on about. I swear I heard the name Daenerys."

Across the square they joined the growing throng outside the red temple. Selene glanced at the locals, most hungry, poor and covered with dirt. _And h_ _ere I am among them. If they knew of my birth, of my parentage, of the life of luxury that I have known, would they rip me limb from limb for sport?_

"Do you understand what he is saying?" she asked Haldon.

"I would if I did not have a girl whining in my ear."

"I do not _whine._ " Selene crossed her arms and looked behind her, studying the faces of the men and women who had stopped to listen. Everywhere she turned, she saw tattoos. _Slaves. Four of every five of them are slaves._

"The priest is calling on the Volantenes to go to war," the Halfmaester told her, "but on the side of right, as soldiers of the Lord of Light, R'hllor who made the sun and stars and fights eternally against the darkness. The triarchs have turned away from the light, he says, their hearts darkened by the yellow harpies in the east. He says…"

" _Dragons_. I understood that word. He said _dragons_."

"Aye. The dragons have come to carry her to glory."

"Her. Daenerys?"

Haldon nodded, "The high priest Benerro has sent forth word from Volantis. Her coming is the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy. She is Azor Ahai returned…"

"Born amidst salt and smoke?" Selene asked.

Haldon looked surprised, "Your Volantene is improving."

Selene shook her head, "No, it's not. There seems to be a bit of confusion amongst the fire priests. This Benerro should travel to Westeros, where my uncle Stannis is heralded as the chosen one by his priestess." Selene thought of Thoros of Myr, the portly genial, wine-stained priest who had loitered about her father's court setting his sword on fire for melees. "Give me priests who are fat and corrupt and cynical," she told Haldon, "the sort who like to sit on soft satin cushions and nibble sweatmeats. It's the ones who believe in gods who make all the trouble."

"It may be that we can use this trouble to our advantage. I know where we may find answers." Haldon led them past the headless hero to where a big stone inn fronted on the square. Inside a hundred dim red candles burned like distant stars. The air was fragrant with the smell of roasted meat and spices, and a slave girl with a turtle tattoo on one cheek was pouring pale green wine.

Haldon paused in the doorway. "There. Those two."

In the alcove two men sat over a carved stone _cyvasse_ table, squinting at their pieces by the light of a red candle. One was gaunt and sallow, with thinning black hair and a blade of a nose. The other was wide of shoulder and round of belly, with ringlets tumbling past his collar. Neither deigned to look up from their game until Haldon drew up a chair between them and said, "My girl plays better _cyvasse_ than both of you combined."

The bigger man raised his eyes to gaze at the intruders in distaste and said something in the tongue of Old Volantis, too fast for Selene to hope to follow. The thinner one leaned back in his chair, "Is she for sale?" he asked in the Common Tongue of Westeros. "The triarch's harem is in need of a _cyvasse-_ playing whore."

"I'm not for sale," Selene said shortly. "Or a whore."

"A pity." The thin man shifted an onyx elephant.

Across the _cyvasse_ table, the man behind the alabaster army pursed his lips in disapproval. He moved his heavy horse.

"A blunder," said Selene.

"Just so," the thin man said. He answered with his own heavy horse. A flurry of quick moved followed, until finally the thin man smiled and said, "Death, my friend."

The big man glowered at the board, then rose and growled something in his own tongue. His opponent laughed. "Come now. The girl does not stink as bad as that." He beckoned Selene forward to the empty chair. "Sit. Put your silver on the table, and we will see how well you play the game."

_Which game?_ Selene might have asked. She sat, "I play better with a cup of wine in hand." The thin man turned obligingly and called for the slave girl to fetch them food and drink.

Haldon said, "The noble Qavo Nogarys is the customs official here in Selhorys. I have never once defeated him in _cyvasse."_

Selene undersood, "Perhaps I will be more fortunate." She opened her purse and stacked silver coins beside the board, one atop another until finally Qavo smiled.

As each of them was setting up pieces for the game, Haldon said, "What news from downriver? Will it be war?"

Qavo shrugged, "The Yunkai'i would have it so. They style themselves the Wise Masters. Of their wisdom I cannot speak, but they do not lack for cunning. Their envoy came ot us with chests of gold and gems and two hundred slaves, nubile girls and smooth-skinned boys trained in the way of the seven sighs. I was told his feasts are memorable and his bribes lavish."

"The Yunkishmen have bought your triarchs?"

"Only one. The city thirsts for war."

"Why?" Selene asked. "Meereen is long leagues across the sea. How has one little girl offended Old Volantis?"

"Little girl?" Qavo laughed. "If even half of the stories coming back form Slaver's Bay are true, this _girl_ is a monster. They say that she is bloodthirsty, that those who speak against her are impaled on spikes to die lingering deaths. They say she is a sorceress who feeds her dragons on the flesh of newborn babes, an oathbreaker who mocks the gods, breaks truces, threatens envoys, and turns on those who have served her loyally. They say her lust cannot be sated, that she mates with men, women, eunuchs, even dogs and children, and woe be the lover who fails to satisfy her."

_Perhaps she is like the Mad King._ Selene knew the power of rumor, and remembered what Renly once told her, _'You are a woman in power, and so many will try to tear you down.' Perhaps these allegations are false._

_But what if they're true?_

"They say," said Haldon. "By _they,_ you mean the slavers, the exiles she drove from Astapor and Meereen. Mere slander."

"The best slander is spiced with truth," suggested Qavo, "but the girl's true sins cannot be denied. This arrogant child has taken it upon herself to smash the slave trade, but that traffic was never confined to Slaver's Bay. It was part of the sea of trade that spanned the world, and the dragon queen has clouded the water. Behind the Black Wall of Volantis, lords of ancient blood sleep poorly, listening as their kitchen slaves sharpen their long knives. Slaves grow our food, clean our streets, teach our young. They guard our walls, row our galleys, fight our battles. And now when they look east, they see this young queen shining from afar, this _breaker of chains._ The Old Blood cannot suffer that. Poor men hate her too. Even the vilest beggar stands higher than a slave. This dragon queen would rob him of that consolation."

_What a barbaric practice,_ Selene thought. Slavery had been outlawed in the Seven Kingdoms for centuries, and the slaves in the east always felt far away from Selene's home in King's Landing. _And Daenerys is freeing them. Giving them hope._ Selene advanced her spearmen. Qavo replied with his light horse. Selene moved her crossbowmen up a square and said, "The red priest outside seemed to think Volantis should fight for this silver queen, not against her."

"The red priests would be wise to hold their tongues," said Qavo. "Already there has been fighting between their followers and those who worship other gods. Benerro's rantings will only serve to bring a savage wrath down upon his head."

"What rantings?" Selene asked.

The Volantene waved his hand, "In Volantis, thousands of slaves and freedmen crowd the temple plaza every night to hear Benerro shriek of bleeding stars and a sword of fire that will cleanse the world. He has been preaching that Volantis will surely burn if the triarchs take up arms against the silver queen."

"That's a prophecy even I could make. Ah, supper."

Selene washed it down with the pale green Volantene liquor, the closest thing she'd had to wine for ages. "Very good," she said, picking up her dragon. "The most powerful piece in the game," she announced as she removed one of Qavo's elephants, "and the Targaryen girl has three."

"Three," Qavo agreed, "against thrice three thousand enemies. When the Wise Masters move against Meereen, the legions of New Ghis will fight beside them. Tolosi. Elyrians. Even the Dothraki."

"You have the Dothraki outside your own gates," Haldon said.

"Khal Pono," Qavo waves a pale hand in dismissal. "The horselords come, we give them gifts, the horselords go." He moved his catapault again, closed his hand around Selene's dragon, and removed it from the board.

The rest was slaughter, though Selene held on another dozen moves. "The time has come for bitter tears," Qavo said at last, scooping up the pile of silver. "Another game?"

"No need," said Haldon. "My girl has had her lesson in humility. I think it is best we get back to our boat."

By the time they arrived back on the boat, everyone should have been asleep except Griff. However, they all stood around the brazier, awaiting their return.

"Niece!" Tyrion called. Selene smiled as she embraced him. _My brush with death truly terrified him,_ she thought. _I must reassure him when I can._

Griff spoke to Haldon, "What have you learned?"

"Daenerys does not stir. She sits in Meereen."

Griff slammed his hand down on the _Shy Maid's_ wooden railing, his back to the crew. "Damn Illyrio."

"What do we do now?" asked Lemore.

Griff stared out into the darkness, "Now we go to Meereen ourselves."

"Ourselves?" Yandry said. "The _Shy Maid_ is a poleboat, meant for the Rhoyne. It cannot hope to stand at sea."

"Then we go to Volantis as planned," said Griff, "We go, gather the Golden Company, and find passage to Meereen."

"Or, " said Aegon, "we gather the Golden Company…and sail west."

Selene exchanged a look with Tyrion.

Griff put a black-gloved hand upon Prince Aegon's shoulder. "Spoken boldly," he said, "but think what you are saying."

"I have," the lad insisted. "Why should I go running to my aunt as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me…in Westeros."

Duck laughed, "I like it. Sail west, not east. Leave the little queen to her city and seat Prince Aegon on the Iron Throne. The boy has stones, give him that."

"Has the sun curdled your brain, Duck?" Haldon snapped. "We need the girl. We need the marriage. If Daenerys accepts our princeling and takes him for her consort, the Seven Kingdoms will do the same. Without her, the lords will only mock his claim and brand him a fraud and a pretender."

"Not if Robert Baratheon's own daughter is by my side," Aegon argued.

" _What?"_ Selene asked.

"Not through marriage," Aegon said quickly. "I need my aunt and her dragons eventually, but…you've lived as a princess in the Seven Kingdoms your entire life. You have worn a crown yourself and led men into battle. You have every reason to hate me and my family, so if you become one of my advisors and herald me as your king…the lords of Westeros will believe my claim."

_Fight under the Targaryen banner?_ Selene felt sick.

Tyrion cleared his throat, "And how do you propose to get to Westeros? The Golden Company is in Volantis and there are no ships to be had."

Griff spoke, "No ships toward Slaver's Bay. Westeros is another matter. The east is closed to us, not the sea. The triarchs would be glad to see the back of the Golden Company, I have no doubt. They might even help us arrange passage back to the Seven Kingdoms. No city wants an army on their doorstep."

"By now the lion surely has the dragon's scent," said Aegon, "but Cersei's attentions will be fixed upon Meereen and my aunt. She knows nothing of me. Once we land and raise our banners, many and more will flock to join us."

"Some," said Haldon, "not _many._ Rhaegar's sister has _dragons._ Rhaegar's son does not. We do not have the strength to take the realm without Daenerys and her army. Her Unsullied."

"The first Aegon took Westeros without eunuchs," Lemore said. "Why shouldn't the sixth Aegon do the same?"

"The plan-" Haldon started.

"Which plan?" asked Duck. "The fat man's plan? The one that changes every time the moon turns? First _Viserys_ Targaryen was to join us with fifty thousand Dothraki screamers at his back. Then the Beggar King was dead, and it was to be the sister, a pliable young child queen who was on her way to Pentos with three new-hatched dragons. Instead, the girl turns up on Slaver's Bay and leaves a string of burning cities in her wake, and the fat man decides we should meet her in Volantis. Now that plan is in ruins as well."

Selene and Tyrion stayed silent. _We are outsiders here. We don't get a vote._

After a few moments, Griff spoke, "I have had enough of Illyio's plans. Robert Baratheon won the Iron Throne without the benefit of dragons. We can do the same. And if I'm wrong and the realm does not rise for us, we can always retreat back across the Narrow Sea."

Haldon shook his head, "The risk-"

"- is not what is was now, as Tywin Lannister is dead," argued Aegon. "A boy sits the Iron Throne, this one even younger than the last, and rebels are thick around them."

Haldon would not budge easily, "Even so, alone we cannot hope to-"

Griff had heard enough, "We will not be alone. Dorne will join us, _must_ join us. Prince Aegon is Elia's son as well as Rhaegar's."

"Exactly," said Aegon, "and who is there left in Westeros to oppose us? A woman."

"A _Lannister_ woman," Haldon insisted. "She will have the Kingslayer at her side, count on that, and they will have all the wealth of Casterly Rock behind them. And Illyrio says this boy king is betrothed to the Tyrell girl, which means we must face the power of Highgarden as well."

Duck turned to the lad, "Prince Aegon, we are your men. Is this your wish, that we sail west instead of east?"

"It is," Aegon replied eagerly. "If my aunt wants Meereen, she's welcome to it. I will claim the Iron Throne by myself with the swords and allegiance of the Golden Company. Move fast and strike hard, and we can win some easy victories before the Lannisters even know we have landed. That will bring others to our cause."

Duck was smiling in approval.

Griff looked thoughtful, and then said, "I would sooner die in Westeros than Essos."

Prince Aegon stood to his full height, "It's decided, then." He looked to Selene, "A word?"

Selene glanced at Tyrion, but followed Aegon to the prow of the ship where they could speak alone.

Aegon stood facing the water, his hands clasped behind him. He stood like a general.

"Bold plan," Selene said.

"It's yours and Tyrion's. What do you think?"

_I can't fight beside the dragon,_ Selene thought, _How can I? After everything my father did to win his war. After all those men died in his rebellion. How can I declare for Rhaegar's son?_ Daenerys and Meereen had always seemed so far away, but this was here and now, and she was expected to proclaim her support for this secret prince to the Seven Kingdoms.

"I can't," Selene choked out. "I can't support you like this. Honor prevents me."

"Honor," Aegon repeated softly. "Yet you were on your way to my aunt to offer your loyalty to her. Am I so different?"

_Not my loyalty,_ Selene thought. _Never my loyalty. I was going to give her a few pretty words in the hopes of saving my siblings and gaining Storm's End, but I never meant to give her my fealty._ "You're Rhaegar's son. I'm Robert's daughter. How can I stand before the realm and betray my father?"

"What about your brother and sister?"

Selene's head snapped toward him, "What?"

Aegon shrugged, "It would be a shame if harm were to befall them. Your sister…Myrcella, is it? She's in Dorne, surrounded by Martells. And your brother is currently on my throne. Any wise counsellor would advise me to kill the boy."

"Are you _threatening_ me?"

"Simply reminding you of what you told me earlier. They were your price. Their safety is what I am offering you. Their lives, and Storm's End…the best you could have hoped for from Daenerys."

_Is my honor worth more than their lives?_ Selene wondered for a half-second. Her mind was made up in a moment, she knew, but she pretended to ponder the question. "You still need the support of the Golden Company," she reminded him.

"They will follow. I will bring them home."

"What if Daenerys doesn't join you?"

Aegon hesitated, but said, "If my aunt wants to rule Meereen, then she can. Once I win the throne, I doubt she will use the dragons against me. How could she? I'm her brother's son. But if she doesn't join me…"

"What?"

"I'll be in need of a wife."

Selene's heart dropped, "But you said-"

"I know what I said. If Daenerys comes to my aid with her dragons, I will offer her my hand in marriage. But if she chooses not to come, if she would rather rule Slaver's Bay…then I need someone powerful. You are the rightful lady of the stormlands, your uncle the rightful lord of Casterly Rock, and through your previous marriage you have connections to the north, riverlands, and Vale. Besides Daenerys, you're the closest thing I have to Targaryen kin, however distant. If not Daenerys, it has to be you."

Selene kept silent. _Marry Rhaegar's son? Father would turn over in his grave._

She must have been grimacing, because Aegon growled, "I like it no more than you do, Selene. Your father _murdered_ mine. Your family is the reason I have spent my entire life hiding in exile. What the Lannisters did to my mother and sister…" He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, "I will allow you to sleep on it." With that, he left her.

_Allow me? He's speaking like a king already._

Tyrion came to her, and stood by her side as she faced the river. He shuffled his feet, "So it seems the prince took our little plan to heart, doesn't it?"

Selene nodded, then looked over to him, "What do you think we should do, Uncle?"

Tyrion chose his words carefully, "I personally see no difference between following this dragon or the other. As I said, I truly believe Daenerys will fly to his side once she hears of his landing."

_Daenerys will come to him,_ Selene thought. _Then I won't have to marry him._

Tyrion continued, "Casterly Rock is mine by rights. I'm willing to give this prince my counsel in exchange for the Rock, but you aren't."

"Am I so different from you?"

"You are better than me, my dear. Your honor is not so easily thrown away. You would be fighting for your father's enemies."

Selene closed her eyes, "My honor…what is it truly worth, Tyrion? Is it worth the lives of Tommen and Myrcella?"

"You've been given an impossible choice," Tyrion said, trying to make her feel better. "Your father's memory or your siblings' lives."

"It's not an impossible choice," Selene said softly. "It's no choice at all. I choose them." _May Father forgive me._

Tyrion nodded. "It's the right thing to do."

"Then why doesn't it feel that way?"

Tyrion did not have an answer for that.

Selene tapped the railing of the ship with her finger, "What if he isn't?"

Tyrion frowned, "What if who isn't what?"

"Aegon," Selene answered. "What if he isn't Rhaegar's son?"

Her uncle's eyes glinted, "Who could he be?"

Selene shrugged, "Anyone. Lyseni often have silvery hair and purple eyes. He could just be a boy of the same age, raised to believe himself to be Rhaegar's son."

"What would be the point in that?"

Selene thought for a moment, "Varys has always talked of his duty to the realm. Do you think he cares for bloodlines? Rightful rulers can be mad or bloodthirsty. Varys has been able to raise this boy from birth, shaping him to be the perfect prince."

"I have wondered the same thing."

"Well? What do we do if it's true?"

Tyrion shrugged, "History is written by the victors, Selene. Should our little endeavor succeed, the singers will make terribly long ballads about the brave boy who risked everything to restore his family to the throne. If we fail, we will be laughed into obscurity. We may never know for sure."

Selene sighed, "Is it so terrible to be disappointed?"

"In what?"

Selene tapped the railing again, suddenly feeling childish, "I wanted to see dragons."

Tyrion smiled, "Me as well. Do you remember walking amongst the dragon skulls below the Red Keep?"

"Of course. Eleni was just a cub at the time, and she was bounding about by our feet," Selene said, suddenly saddened.

"I wouldn't be too disappointed, if I were you," Tyrion said. "I have a feeling dragons are in our future. Whether they are with us or against us remains to be seen."


	47. Lot Sixty

Selene stretched amongst the plush silk sheets with a satisfied sigh, sunlight streaming through the windows onto her swollen belly. Strong arms drew her close and her lover's face nuzzled the back of her neck. Selene giggled at the affection.

Through the door and down the hall, she heard the foreboding patter of small feet.

"Here they come," Selene braced herself.

Her love groaned. Selene laughed and turned her face to him. His mane of gorgeous silver hair caught the sunlight.

But he had no face.

Selene cried out and scurried away, the red and black sheets wrapping around her wrists and ankles as she heard the scared voices in the hall.

"Mother!"

"Keep away!" Selene cried, worried to death for her children. "Don't come in!"

A sharp pain in her core dizzied her, and Selene felt blood rushing from her thighs.

"No…" she mumbled, watching her pregnant belly flatten.

Selene screamed as the sheets swallowed her.

When she opened her eyes, she was on the back of a great dragon.

The sky was an expanse of endless blue. Selene threw her arms out and yelled with total abandon and joy, her legs gripping the black and gold scales of her mount. Another dragon soared beside her, a great black beast with horns and spinal plates of blood red. His rider was a girl her own age, with flowing silver hair and a face Selene could not quite see. She only knew that the girl was her dear friend, and beautiful. Their dragons danced as they flew, weaving around each other in perfect harmony. Selene heard the girl laughing.

Selene saw a flash over her shoulder and turned her head, and to her delight saw that her own hair was a pale silvery-gold. She looked forward, the sun on her back and Westeros below her. Selene didn't know how she knew, but she could feel the castles as they passed. Winterfell, Riverrun, Casterly Rock, the Red Keep…all Seven Kingdoms splayed out beneath her. But then she was in Shipbreaker's Bay, and Storm's End was before her.

_My father's seat,_ Selene smiled. _My ancestral home._

The sky went black, and Selene heard a voice boom, " _DRAGONSPAWN!"_

Selene gasped, looking up, "Father?"

Hard wind whipped at her face. Her dragon let out a roar of warning, but the voice would not stop.

" _Traitor! Monster! Enemy!"_

Selene gripped her dragon's gold spikes hard, weaving around the winds. Lightning struck the waves nearby. The dragon let out a scream.

The black dragon and the silver girl were gone.

Lightning struck again, hitting her dragon's wing. The dragon screamed in agony and began to tailspin. Selene screamed as she clutched its back for dear life.

She looked up at the black sky and saw the moon. Its face was her own, but with eyes of pale lilac. Its voice was Robert Baratheon's. Selene heard the cries of agony and pleads for the Mother's mercy as she had when her father was on his deathbed. Tears streamed down her face as she and her dragon fell to the sea.

"I-I'm sorry, Father!" Selene cried helplessly.

The dragon hit the water with an earth shattering crash, and muffled silence fell as Selene sunk lower and lower beneath the sea. Down and down and down…water filling her lungs.

Selene's eyes began to shut as she stared into the black depths. Haunting violet eyes gazed back at her, growing larger until the face of a great black dragon took shape, rushing toward her, mouth open and roaring and-

Selene screamed as she shot up in her hammock.

"It's okay!" Tyrion cried, reaching out his hands, trying to comfort her. "It was just a nightmare."

Selene's chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath, sweat pooling at her back.

"The same?" Tyrion asked.

Selene nodded. Sometimes little details were different. Sometimes the color of her lover's hair was Stark brown or Tully red, or sometimes her dragon was crimson and gold instead of black and yellow…but the end was always the same.

Selene put her face in her hands and wept. She was exhausted, unable to get a good night's rest. Her nightmares were genuinely terrifying, and her father's voice… It wasn't so much his screaming. Robert Baratheon's fury was as familiar to her as the patter of rain. It was his agonizing cries for mercy. And his weeping. It broke her heart.

Tyrion rubbed little circles into her back, knowing there was little he could do or say to lift her spirits.

After a while, Selene wiped her face with her hands. "I need air."

Tyrion nodded, letting her go alone as he knew she wanted.

Aegon was the only one on deck in the early hours of the morning.

He nodded at her. She tilted her head, and rushed over to the prow of the boat. Gripping the rail, she promptly retched into the river.

_What is wrong with me?_ Selene thought as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She felt feverish, but also cold. _Am I dying?_ Her mind and body seemed to be torturing her.

Aegon tapped her shoulder, handing her a skin of water.

"Thank you," she mumbled as she took it and sipped.

"You look awful."

"Thanks." Selene took a long drink. "I had another nightmare."

"I heard. There's no place on the boat safe from your screams."

She blushed, "I'm sorry. I don't know why I-"

"Haldon has a theory."

"Oh? And what does the Halfmaester think?"

"He says your body is fighting the decision of your mind. That you are at war within yourself."

_The decision of my mind?_ Selene thought bitterly. _It was no decision. I must. For Tommen and Myrcella._ But then Selene remembered something from her past. From years ago… _'_ _My dear, you must accept who you are. If you are at war within yourself, how do you expect to win the wars to come?'_

_Maester Aemon..._

Selene straightened, and gave her forehead a smack. "Oh, gods!"

_Aemon Targaryen._

Aegon looked alarmed, "What?"

"I've met a Targaryen before! On the Wall. Maester Aemon." Selene could have hit herself a second time for being so stupid. She had spent her entire childhood reading of dragons and Targaryens and yet she had forgotten that Aemon Targaryen, once offered the crown and refusing it for a life of service, lived at the Wall.

"You have?" Aegon asked, interest piqued. "What was he like?"

"Old, blind, and wise." Selene smiled, "Despite his blindness, it seemed to me he could see more clearly than anyone." She wished more than anything that she could have asked him about his niece, Selene's own great grandmother Rhaelle Targaryen.

What did Maester Aemon say? _Accept who I am? War within myself?_ At the time, Selene thought he had been speaking of her conflicting Lannister and Baratheon identities. But…he must have known who she was. As Robert's daughter, she had Targaryen blood. Could Maester Aemon have prophesized that she would one day be here, standing on a precipice between Baratheon and Targaryen? It seemed almost impossible, but Selene had come to trust in the impossible.

"I wish I could have met him," Aegon said sadly, oblivious to the realizations in Selene's mind.

"You may yet have the chance," Selene said. "He was well and truly old, but he could still be alive."

Aegon nodded, looking south. "We should be able to see Volantis by tomorrow's end. Then we enlist the Golden Company. Then we-"

"Go home."

Aegon smiled, "Yes. And then we go home."

But when Selene emerged abovedecks late that morning and looked off the prow, her certainty faltered. _Blue sky and blue river here and north, but off south…I have never seen a sky that color._ A thick band of clouds ran along the horizon.

"A bar sinister," said Haldon.

"What does that mean?"

Duck swooped in, "It means some big bastard is creeping up ahead of us. We should be able to see Volantis soon, but not with that monster in the way."

"I thought storms like that only appeared at sea?" Selene asked.

It was Ysilla who answered, "The mouth of Mother Rhoyne is as dangerous as open ocean. This is where she breathes into the world."

Selene was surprised to find Griff at the helm. It was only shy of midday, and he did not usually come out from his cabin until dusk.

Lemore gave Selene a solemn nod, "There you see it, Joanna. The Father's wroth. The Seven will not be mocked."

Selene swallowed her unease. And her frustration. Only Aegon and Tyrion called her Selene. For the rest of the crew, Joanna had stuck. Griff took to calling her neither, preferring _you_ or _girl._

"I don't understand. What does this mean?" Selene asked.

"It means we had best get below," Tyrion told her.

For the better part of three hours they ran west, trying to go around the storm, but still it grew closer. The southern sky went green, then grey, then black. A wall of dark clouds loomed up before them, churning like a kettle of milk left on the fire too long. Selene and Tyrion watched from the prow, careful to stay out of the way of the captain and crew.

The last little storm had been thrilling, intoxicating, a sudden squall that had left her feeling cleansed and refreshed. This one felt different right from the first. Yandry and Ysilla sensed it, too. They changed their course to try and get out of the storm's path.

It was a futile effort. This storm was too big. The river around them grew rougher. The wind began to howl. The _Shy Maid_ rose and fell as waves smashed against her hull. Before them, lightning stabbed down from the sky, blinding purple bolts that danced across the waves in webs of light. Thunder followed.

"The time has come to hide," Tyrion took Selene by the hand and led her bellowdecks.

"I can help!" Selene tried.

Ysilla was busy with a rope, so Yandry answered, "You would do more harm than good, Joanna. Let us handle this."

Selene exchanged one last glance with Aegon before being dragged down below.

Before they entered their cabin, Aegon came rushing down the stairs. Throwing the door open to his cabin, he slammed it shut behind him.

Selene gave Tyrion a quizzical look. He shrugged, and so Selene sighed, and went to see what was wrong with the lad.

"Enter," said a sullen voice.

When she did, she realized just how much in danger they were in. The cabin was tilting and jumping, going this way and that as the waves hammered at the hull of the ship. _There are worse way to die than drowning,_ Selene thought. _And at least I am familiar with the practice._

Aegon frowned when he saw her, "What are you doing here?"

_What_ am _I doing here?_ "I wanted to see if you were alright."

Aegon sighed, "How do they expect me to rule…to lead an army…when they send me away at the first sign of danger?"

Selene shrugged, "They're trying to protect you."

"Ruling is dangerous!" Aegon argued. "Fighting is dangerous! But the worst thing to do is run and hide. You didn't run and hide," he looked up at her from his cot. "You've led men into battle."

"I have," Selene sat beside him. "I have and nearly died. Several times over."

"Do you regret it?"

"Not for one second."

Aegon nodded, his point proven, "I just want to make sure I live before I die."

Selene understood. "We should play a game," she suggested. "That might help take our thoughts away from the storm."

"Not _cyvasse,_ " he said at once.

Selene laughed. "Not _cyvasse,"_ she agreed as the deck rose under her. That would only lead to pieces flying everywhere. "When you were a boy, did you ever play come-into-my-castle?"

"No. Can you teach me?"

Could she? Selene hesitated. _Fool of a girl. Of course he's never played come-into-my-castle. He has never had a castle._ Come-into-my-castle was a game for highborn children, one meant to teach them courtesy, heraldry, and a thing or two about their lord father's friends and foes, "That won't…" she started. The deck gave another violent heave, slamming the two of them together. Aegon gave a gasp of surprise. "That game won't do," Selene told him, gritting her teeth, "Sorry. I don't know what game-"

"I do." Aegon kissed her.

Selene pulled back, "I thought...I thought-"

"Wrong," Aegon finished for her. "You thought wrong."

Selene could see her own reflection shining in his eyes. _Pretty eyes,_ she thought, but she saw other things as well. _A lot of fear, a little hope…and a fair share of lust._

Above the thunder clapped, close at hand now.

"I never meant-" Aegon rushed, "I only thought…what if we drown, and I…I…"

Selene knew what he meant. She would sooner die in the arms of a lover than scared and alone. But she thought of his reaction when he found out her true parentage and stood, "Aegon-"

He jumped to his feet, an incredible feat given the state of the cabin. "I know, Selene. Trust me. I feel such shame for the way I reacted when I…when I found out that-" He sighed, "You are not to blame for your father's crimes. And neither am I for mine." He drew her close, eyes on her lips, "Selene, I-"

Selene put the flat of her hands on his chest and shoved him away. Off balance, he fell on his cot. " _Crimes?_ You and Griff keep using that word. My father was many things, but a criminal is not one of them. Your grandfather was a mad murderer who burned people alive for fun and your father…he _kidnapped_ and _raped_ Lyanna Stark. I will _never_ be sorry for my father's rebellion and I will _never_ stand by while someone calls him a criminal in my hearing." That's when the second part of his sentence sunk in, and Selene realized what Aegon had said.

_Neither am I for mine._

"You...you admit your father's crimes?" Selene asked.

Aegon grimaced, "I know what he did. I know he betrayed my mother, and I know what my grandfather was."

"How?"

"Varys," Aegon answered. "He promised to help me, but made sure I knew what they were so I wouldn't repeat their mistakes. I should not have said _c_ _rimes._ Forgive me."

Selene stared at him. The deck moved beneath her feet. She stumbled forward into his arms. He held her close, and she could do nothing but look up into his eyes.

_What separates us?_ Selene wondered. _Besides all the bloodshed and rivalry? Just a few layers of clothes._ She felt heat rise in her cheeks. She knew it was Jon she wanted, truly, but Jon was now Commander of the Night's Watch. Only death could part him from his vows. Selene may see him one day, but it could never be as she wanted. Aegon, on the other hand… Ever since their true identities were revealed, there had been a strange wall between them, but Selene remembered them as they were when they were just Young Griff and Joanna. How easily friendship has risen between them, how hard they sparred, how often they had laughed. She did not love him, but he was her friend and handsome…and maybe that could be enough for today.

"Selene, I-" she interrupted him with a kiss.

His lips parted eagerly, but then he said, "Selene, I…I've never…I don't know…"

The boat lurched beneath them, and the two were thrown on the floor.

They exchanged a shocked look…and then they were laughing. Selene felt herself blush. _He is even more handsome then Loras. Especially when he laughs._ She wondered how he would look with his natural silvery-gold hair, and reached forward to rub a blue lock between her fingers.

Aegon's fierce gaze nearly burned her.

_I wonder how it feels to bed a dragon._ The thought made her blush harder.

"Soon I won't have to hide," he said softly.

_Soon. When he lands in the Seven Kingdoms and begins his conquest. Of my country. Of my home._ The thought sobered her.

She looked at the prince. _He wants me as a man wants a woman, and I want him how a woman wants a man, but neither of us are destined for normalcy. We are of higher breeding, higher honor, and higher calling._

Selene stood.

"I'm sorry, Aegon," she said before she turned and left.

He called her name, but Selene ignored him as she went back to her and Tyrion's cabin.

Selene pressed her forehead to the door, taking several deep breaths.

"Did you have an enjoyable last night on earth?" her uncle's voice chimed behind her.

Selene grimaced, "I can't speak of this with you, Uncle. I wish-" _I wish I had Lori._ Selene wanted a friend.

"Can you speak of it with me?" asked a female voice.

Selene whirled around to find Septa Lemore praying besides the cot.

"Septa," Selene started, "I did not know you would be here."

"I am not needed abovedecks," she said kindly. "I am of more use here, praying to the merciful Mother. But I see you chose another way to spend your last hours." She added with a glance at Selene's disheveled clothing.

Selene scoffed, "Nothing happened."

Septa Lemore plowed on, "Our young prince will marry his aunt. You are only making it harder for yourself when that day comes."

"Nothing happened," Selene repeated, kicking herself for getting carried away for a second time with the princeling. "Nor do I want anything to." What she wanted was to satisfy her desire, to be loved again like she once was, but the risk was too great. _What if I get with child? I can't bring a bastard into this cruel world. And what of the child's safety? The bastard of Aegon Targaryen Martell and Selene Baratheon Lannister?_ The babe would never be safe.

It was all too confusing. She had been raised to think of sex as something between a husband and wife. Anything else was shameful and wrong. To bed someone who wasn't her husband was to be a whore, but fierce desire rose in her from time to time, and she could do nothing to suppress it.

"I wish it wasn't wrong," she mumbled.

Tyrion smiled, "It's not, not really."

"But-"

"Look, niece. I am the last person to lecture you on morality, especially on this. And the gods know I wish we were speaking of _anything_ else right now, but I want you to find happiness and love one day. To do that, you need to be free. A bastard, a reputation…would change that."

The boat turned sharply, and the three of them went sprawling.

Tyrion brushed his hair out of his eyes, "As much as I am _enjoying_ this conversation, perhaps we should focus on the matter at hand?"

Selene nodded, more than ready to think of something else.

In the end they did not drown...though there were times when the prospect of a nice, peaceful drowning had a certain appeal. The storm raged for the rest of that day and well into the night. Wet winds howled around them and waves rose like the fists of drowned giants to smash down on their deck. Tyrion held Selene as the ship's hull creaked and groaned alarmingly around them, like a cask about to burst.

Nearby midnight the winds finally died away, and the seas grew calm enough for Selene to make her way back up onto the deck. What she saw there did not reassure her. The area around them was peaceful enough, but all around the storm raged on. East, west, north, south, everywhere she looked, the clouds rose up like black mountains, their tumbled slopes and colossal cliffs alive with blue and purple lightning. No rain was falling, but the deck was slick and wet underfoot.

Selene could hear someone screaming from below, a thin high voice hysterical with fear. She could hear Septa Lemore too. The septa stood on the forecastle facing the storm, her hands raised above her head as she whispered prayers. Yandry and Ysilla were struggling against the sails. Whether they were putting it up or pulling it down she never knew. It seemed to her a very bad idea. And so it was.

The wind returned as a whispered threat, cold and damp, brushing over her cheek, flapping the wet sail, swirling and tugging at Selene's clothes. Some instinct made Selene grab hold of the nearest rail, just in time. In the space of three heartbeats the little breeze became a howling gale. Then the rains came, black and blinding, and the entire world vanished behind a wall of water. Something huge flapped overhead, and Selene glanced up just in time to see the sail taking wing, with two people dangling from the lines. Then she heard a _crack. Oh hells,_ she thought, _that had to be the mast._

She found a line and pulled on it, fighting toward the hatch to get herself out of the storm, but a gust of wind knocked the feet from under her and a second slammed her into the rail and there she clung. Rain lashed at her face, blinding her. Her mouth was full of blood again. The ship groaned and growled beneath her.

Then the mast burst.

Selene never saw it, but she heard it. That _cracking_ sound again and then a scream of tortured wood, and suddenly the air was full of shards and splinters. One missed her eye by half an inch, a second found her neck, a third went through her thigh. She screamed. But she held on to the line, held on with a desperate strength she did not know she had. _Death is so desperate to have me,_ Selene thought. _Like a persistent lover._ That made her laugh and laugh, wild and hysterical, as thunder boomed and timbers moaned and waves crashed all around her.

By the time the storm abated and the surving passengers and crew came crawling back on deck, like pale pink worms wriggling to the surface after a rain, the _Shy Maid_ was a broken thing, floating low in the water, her hull broken in half a hundred places, her hold awash in seawater, her mast a splintered ruin no taller than Tyrion.

"The gods laugh at our plans," said Septa Lemore. "They heard our grand delusions and quest for glories and decided to remind us of our fragility."

Haldon frowned, "Where are Yandry and Ysilla?"

"I saw them," Selene called out. "The winds carried them away with the sail. Do you think…?"

Griff shook his head, "They're Rhoynish. They'll survive." Though he didn't sound very certain.

Haldon was watching Selene carefully as she leaned against the railing. "You're hurt."

Selene dropped to one knee.

"Selene!" Tyrion cried.

"It's just a cut," she said through grit teeth.

Aegon straightened, "Haldon, see to Selene's injury. Is everyone else alright?"

Duck nodded, "I thought storms of this size only happened at sea."

The crew waited in silence for a moment. No one said what they were waiting for, but they all knew. _This would be where Yandry or Ysilla warn of the mysterious Mother Rhoyne._

Haldon cleared his throat as he wrapped a fresh bandage around Selene's thigh, "We're near the mouth of the river. Or, we were near it. Who knows where we are now."

Selene looked outside the boat. The water was an expanse in every direction. _Has the storm carried us out to sea?_

Tyrion grimaced, "That bloody big storm has turned our mast to kindling. We'll probably keep drifting around until our food runs out and we start eating one another." He looked at Selene, "Who do you think we'll eat first? "

"The noisiest, I'd say."

It was all they could do to keep the wreck afloat. For nineteen days they drifted, as food and water dwindled. The sun beat down on them, relentless. When she had nothing else to do, she pricked her toes and fingers. Griff made a point of sharpening his sword each day, honing the point until it gleamed. Aegon had his lessons with Lemore and Haldon as if nothing was wrong, and Selene would spar with Duck, limping slightly on her hurt thigh.

That night she dreamed she was in King's Landing, her dagger in hand. "There is no one as accursed as a kinslayer," Lord Tywin said, but when Selene's hand drew the dagger over his throat, it was Aegon who coughed blood.

She woke to the sound of shouting.

The deck was moving under her, and for half a heartbeat she thought they were back on the Rhoyne, with Ysilla making breakfast for them.

Selene slipped from her hammock, yawning, and looked about for her boots. And mad though the thought was, she made sure her dagger and sword were at her hips. _Just in case,_ Selene thought, hunger and thirst making her a bit paranoid. _My weapons will be useful if anyone decides to eat me or Tyrion._ She pulled her boots on and climbed on deck to see what the shouting was about. Aegon was there before her, his eyes wide with wonder, "A sail," he shouted, "there, there, do you see? A sail, and they've seen us, they have! A _sail._ "

This time she kissed him…once on each cheek, once on the brow, and one last one on the mouth. He was flushed and laughing by the last kiss, suddenly shy again, but it made no matter. The other ship was closing. A big galley. They were going to live.

"What ship is that?" Selene asked Griff. "Can you read her name?"

"I don't need to read her name. We're downwind. I can smell her." Griff drew his sword. "That's a slaver."

###

"Lot fifty-nine," the auctioneer snapped his whip. "A rare find for the fighting pits. Westerosi knights, well trained and dangerous."

The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown river flowed into Slaver's Bay. Selene Baratheon Stark could smell the salt in the air, mingled with the stink from the latrine ditches behind the slave pens. She did not mind the heat so much as she did the damp.

"Weapons included in the lot," the auctioneer announced. "They would make fine protectors."

Selene glanced up at the block. Griff, Duck, and Aegon stood in nothing but well placed cloths on their hips, their backs raw from the whips, their faces so swollen they were almost unrecognizable. With them was a fourth man. A knight Selene did not recognize, with sloped shoulders and a weathered face. He was covered in course black hair. Westerosi as well, probably from another raid, he was grouped with the knights from her ship. Selene took no joy from their bloody appearance.

Even in chains, Griff looked dangerous, a hulking brute with big, thick arms and sloped shoulders. Both his eyes were blackened, two dark pits in his swollen face. Upon one cheek he wore a brand: a demon's mask, as punishment for fighting his captors.

When the slavers had swarmed the ship, Griff met them with longsword in hand, slaying three before he was overwhelmed. The crew would have gladly killed him, but their captain forbade it; a fighter was always worth good silver. So Griff had been chained, beaten within an inch of his life, starved, and branded. Aegon and Duck wore weapons, so they were grouped together as knights.

"They'll give a good show in the fighting pits. Who will start me out at three hundred?"

No one would.

If Varys was to be believed, the lithe lad on the block was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, the blood of Old Valyria. Whether or not Selene believed it, it filled her with shame all the same to see such brought so low. Aegon paid no mind to the mongrel crowd; his eyes were fixed beyond the siege lines, on the distant city with its ancient walls of many-colored brick. Selene could read that look as easy as a book: _so near and yet so distant._ The poor wretch had come too late. Daenerys Targaryen was wed, the guards told them, laughing. She had taken a Meereenese slaver as her king, as wealthy as he was noble, and when the peace was signed and sealed the fighting pits of Meereen would open once again. Other slaves insisted the guards were lying, that Daenerys Targaryen would never make peace with slavers. _Mhysa,_ they called her. Someone told her that meant _Mother._ Soon the silver queen would come forth from her city, smash the Yunkai'i, and break their chains, they whispered to one another.

_And then she'll bake us lemon cakes,_ Selene thought bitterly. She had little hope for royal rescue. If she could only get her hand on something sharp…then she could see to her own deliverance if need be.

After a few tense minutes of bidding, an older man, white-haired yet tall and fit, with leathery brown skin and a close-cropped salt and pepper beard, bought the four knights.

"Lot sixty," the auctioneer announced, "a whore."

Selene was about to argue that point when her thin brown shift was ripped from her body. She stood in front of the crowd as naked as her nameday.

Her first instinct was to cover herself, to turn and blush and run. But she would not give them the satisfaction. _I am Selene of House Baratheon. I am the stag's daughter, I am the wolf's widow, and I am the storm._ So she remembered her House words, kept her spine as straight as steel, her chin up, and held the crowd's gaze.

The bidders sat on wooden benches sipping fruit drinks. A few were being fanned by slaves. Many wore _tokars,_ that peculiar garment beloved by the old blood of Slaver's Bay, as elegant as it was impractical.

"Who will open for this lot?"

"Three hundred," bid a matron on an antique palanquin.

"Four," called a monstrously fat Yunkishman from a litter. Covered in yellow, he looked as large as four Illyrios. Selene pitied the slaves who had to carry his litter.

"And one," said a crone in a violet _tokar._ The auctioneer gave her a sour look but did not disallow the bid.

"Four-fifty," came the bid.

"Four-eighty."

"Five hundred."

Some bids were called out in High Valyrian, some in the mongrel tongue of Ghis. A few buyers signaled with a finger, the twist of a wrist, or the wave of a painted fan.

Selene wanted to glance to the side. To look at those lined up to be sold behind her. Tyrion, Lemore, and Haldon. No doubt her uncle was looking away.

Absurdly, she wondered why someone would want her for pleasure at all. She was burned by the sun from her weeks on the _Shy Maid's_ wreck, skinny from near starvation, and dried blood caked her skin over cuts. She had not been so foolish as Griff to fight the slavers, but that did not mean she had escaped punishment. Like Tyrion, her mouth had earned her some lashes.

"Eight hundred."

"Eight-fifty."

"And one."

At nine hundred pieces of silver, the bidding began to slow. At nine hundred and fifty-one, it stopped. The auctioneer had the scent, though, and he motioned at Selene to turn. Blood rushed to her face, but she did.

"She comes with a fearsome black sword, a priceless gem, an iron dagger, and this." The auctioneer placed Eleni's cloak around her shoulders. It made her feel a bit braver, and she welcomed the covering. Though, her entire front was still exposed. "Who wouldn't want to bed a lioness?" the auctioneer cried.

Selene resisted the urge to laugh. _He has no idea how right he is._

"One thousand," bid the grotesque fat man.

"And one," the crone said again.

"Twelve hundred," said the fat yellow man. His eyes were yellow, too, and the way they were fixed upon her made Selene uncomfortable.

"Thirteen hundred."

"And one," said the crone.

_Grandfather always said a Lannister was worth ten times as much as any man. Though, I'm not sure he had this exact scenario in mind._

At sixteen hundred the price began to stagnate again, so the slave trader invited some of the buyers to come up for a closer look at her. "She is young," he promised. "You could breed her with other bedslaves, and get good coin for the pretty whelps."

"She's got scars," complained the old crone once she had a good close look. Her wrinkled face puckered with displeasure. Her flesh was maggot white; wrapped in the violet _tokar,_ she looked like a moldy prune. "Her eyes are full of impudence. A disobedient thing."

"My lady has yet to hear my insolent tongue." Selene spat, in case the crone missed her meaning.

The hag hissed in outrage, and Selene got a lick of the whip across her back, a stinging cut that drove her to her knees. The taste of blood filled her mouth. She grinned and spat. _You call that pain?_

"Two thousand," called a new voice. Selene looked. It was the same man who had purchased Griff, Duck, and Aegon. His eyes were on the scars on her calves and shoulder. _He recognizes battle wounds._ Selene's heart leapt. She would much rather die with a sword in her hand then spend the rest of her life as a plaything.

The crone and fat man kept increasing the price, until the bearded man said, "Five thousand silvers for the lot."

"If there are no further bids-"

"Seven thousand!" shouted Selene.

Laughter rippled from across the benches. "The whore wants to buy herself," the fat man observed.

Selene gave him a lascivious grin, "A clever slave deserves a clever master, and you lot all look like fools."

That provoked more laugher from the bidders, and a scowl from the auctioneer, who was fingering his whip indecisively as he tried to puzzle out whether this would work to his benefit.

"Five thousand is an insult!" Selene called out. "I fight, I dance, I say amusing things. I ride horseback expertly…and you as well, if you're handsome enough. I'm deadly with a sword, and men three times my size tremble when we meet across a _cyvasse_ table. I bid _ten_ thousand silvers for myself! I'm good for it, I am. My grandfather told me I must always pay my debts."

The bearded man, Aegon's new master, met her eyes across rows of other bidders, and he smiled. _A warm smile, that,_ Selene reflected. _Friendly. But my, those eyes are cold. Might be I don't want him to buy me after all._

The yellow enormity was squirming, and murmured something in his Ghiscari tongue. Selene did not understand it, but his tone was plain enough. "Was that another bid?" Selene cocked her head, "I offer all the gold of Casterly Rock!"

She heard the whip before she felt it, a whistle in the air, thin and sharp. Selene grunted under the blow, but this time managed to stay on her feet. Her thoughts flashed back to the beginnings of her journey, when her most pressing problem had been deciding which wine to drink with her midmorning snails. _See what comes of chasing dragons?_ A laugh burst from her lips, spattering the first row of buyers with blood and spit.

"You are sold," the auctioneer announced. Then he hit her again, just because he could. This time Selene went down.

One of the guards yanked her to her feet. She gazed across the camp to the walls of Meereen. Those gates looked so close…and if the talk in the slave pens could be believed, Meereen remained a free city. Within those crumbling walls, slavery and the slave trade was forbidden. All she had to do was reach those gates and pass beyond, and she would be free again.

But it was hardly possible unless she abandoned Tyrion. And that she could not do.

Her master's overseer was waiting to take charge of her, with a mule cart where Griff, Duck, Aegon, and the fourth mystery knight sat. They looked at her in surprise, before casting their eyes back to the block, where Tyrion was being dragged up. The overseer had a long narrow face and a chin beard bound with golden wire, and his stiff black hair swept over his temples. "What a beautiful creature you are," he said. "You remind me of my first wife, back when I was young and in love. I shall take good care of you. Tell me your name."

Selene hardly heard him, eyes on her uncle.

The overseer saw her worry, "A friend of yours?"

"My kinsman," Selene answered. "I can't be without him. Please-"

The man gripped her chin hard and forced her to look on his face. "I will not be ignored. And I will not repeat myself."

Selene's mouth was dry. _I am Queen Selene of House Baratheon, rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, you sniveling worm._ "Joanna."

"Beautiful Joanna. You are the property of the noble and valorous Yezzan zo Qaggaz, the best fighting pit master in all of Essos. Count yourself fortunate, for Yezzan is a kindly and benevolent master, who purchases only the best of heroes. Think of him as you would your father."

_Never,_ thought Selene, but this time she held her tongue. She could not take another lash.

"Your father loves his special treasures best of all, and he will cherish you. Harpy knows what kind of warrior he sees in you," the overseer was saying. "And me, think of me as you would the nurse who cared for you when you were small. Nurse is what all my children call me."

"One thousand silvers."

Selene turned. "Please, my-"

"It is for your father to decide."

Selene looked closer to the block, where the kindly looking man, Yezzan the hero-buyer, was looking at Tyrion with disinterest. _He only buys fighters, and Tyrion is no fighter._

"If I could speak to him-"

"He's instructed me to cover you in silks and make you a special-"

Selene broke and ran toward her master.

Nurse shouted from behind, and Selene heard the distant crack of a whip, but she didn't stop until she was before her new lord. She dropped to her knees before him.

"Yezzan, my lord, might I make a petition?"

The man gave her a quizzical look. When he spoke the Common Tongue, it was with a distinct Ghiscari accent, "I am no lord."

"Apologies, noble Yezzan." Nurse had caught up. "Your latest bedslave needs more training."

"I did not buy a bedslave," Yezzan said evenly. "I bought her sword and dagger and lion's cloak because she is not what she appears. Not to the average eye, but I have better eyes than most, Nurse. You know that."

"Of course, valorous Yezzan."

"I will listen to the lion girl, I am thinking."

Selene could have kissed him for that. Nurse scowled, but gave a low bow before retreating.

"Fifteen hundred silver."

Selene stood, "My lord, that dwarf is dear to me."

Yezzan frowned, looking back and forth between them, "I cannot imagine why."

"Buy him."

His frown deepened, "I buy fighters. He is not one."

Selene grasped at scraps, "He...he and I are a team! I bring my enemy low, and he finishes the job."

Yezzan looked skeptical.

"Two thousand silvers."

It was all Selene could do not to cry. "Please," she mumbled, falling to her knees, grasping at the front his tunic. "He is as dear to me as family. I cannot live without him." She pressed her forehead into the dirt before his shoes, all pride forgotten in her desperation. _I will lose Tyrion forever._

"Twenty-five hundred."

Selene looked up.

Yezzan watched her carefully.

"You said I'm no bedslave."

Yezzan frowned, "Yes. Women come to my bed willingly, or not at all."

Selene could understand that well enough. He was older, to be sure, but handsome. Not dangerously attractive as the Red Viper, but Selene could tell he was handsome in his youth. "If you buy the dwarf," Selene glanced at Lemore and Haldon, both as white as sheets behind the block, "and the next two lots…I will come to your bed willingly."

Yezzan raised a brow, "You would?"

Selene nodded desperately, "Yes. I'll marry you, too." _What am I doing?_ The answer came as quickly as the question. _Whatever needs to be done._ "Whatever you desire of me, it's yours."

Yezzan gave her a small smile, then turned to the block, "Twelve thousand silver pieces for lots sixty-one, sixty-two, and sixty-three."

Nurse escorted her back to the cart while guards brought Tyrion, Haldon, and Lemore. The four of them were flung into the mule cart with Duck, Aegon, Griff, and the hairy knight. _We're together,_ Selene thought with relief. _W_ _e may have lost Ysilla and Yandry to the storm, but at least the rest of us are together._ Selene edged to Tyrion's side and buried her face in his shoulder.

Nurse climbed onto the front of the mule cart and took up the reigns, and they set off through the siege camp to the compound of their new master. Four slave soldiers marched beside them, two on either side of the cart.

"At least we're still together," Haldon murmured.

"Seven be praised," said Lemore.

Tyrion scowled, "It wasn't the Seven." He glanced down where Selene laid her head. "If anyone is to be thanked, it's my niece."

Selene glanced at the hairy knight, who watched them speak with interest.

Aegon and Griff stayed silent. Selene understood the torture they felt. Like her, they had pride: in their blood, in their names, in their house, in their selves. And like her, they had been bought and sold like property.

Selene did not weep, but her eyes were red and miserable, and she never lifted them from her feet. _Perhaps if I look at nothing, all of this will go away. Perhaps I'll wake up in my hammock on the Shy Maid. Or even better, perhaps I'll wake up beside Robb in Winterfell, all of this an awful nightmare._ Selene fingered the moonstone around her neck. _Or perhaps I'll wake up beside Jon somewhere in Dorne like we dreamed of all those years ago. Anything is better than this._

Selene saw the dead, and heard the dying. Under the drifting smoke, the smell of horses, and the sharp salt tang of the bay was a stink of blood and shit. _Some flux,_ she realized, as she watched two sellswords carry the corpse of a third from one of the tents. That made her fingers twitch. Disease could wipe out an army quicker than any battle, she had heard so from the Blackfish.

_All the more reason to escape, and soon._

A quarter of a mile on, she found good reason to reconsider. A crowd had formed around three slaves taken while trying to escape. "I know my treasures will be sweet and obedient," Nurse said. "See what befalls those who run."

The captives had been tied to a row of beams, and a pair of slingers were using them to test their skills. "Tolosi," Haldon said, "the best slingers in the world. They throw soft lead balls in place of stone."

Selene had never seen the point of slings, when bows had better range…but she had never seen Tolosi at work before. Their lead balls did vastly more damage than the smooth stones other slingers used, and more than any bow as well. One struck the knee of one of the captives, and it burst apart in a gush of blood and bone that left the man's lower leg dangling by a rope of dark red tendon. _Well, he won't run again,_ Selene thought as the man began to scream. His shrieks mingled in the morning air with the laughter of camp followers and the curses of those who wagered good coin that the slinger would miss. Selene tried to look away, but Nurse grasped her under the chin and twisted her head back around. "Watch," he commanded. "You too, knights."

Griff raised his head and stared at Nurse. Selene could see the tightness in his arms. _He's going to throttle him, and that will be the end for us all._ But the knight only grimaced, then turned to watch the bloody show.

To the east, the massive brick walls of Meereen shimmered through the morning heat. That was the refuge these poor fools had hoped to reach. _How long will it remain a refuge, though?_

All three of the would-be escapees were dead before Nurse gathered up the reigns again. The mule cart rumbled on.

The tent of Yezzan zo Qaggaz proved to be a palace of black silk. Gilded harpies stood atop the center poles of its nine peaked roofs, shining in the sun. Lesser tents ringed it on all sides. "Those are the dwellings of our noble master's cooks and warriors, and a few less-favored kinsmen," Nurse told them. "You rare Westerosi shall have the privilege of sleeping in your own little tent." Nurse glanced at Selene, "Except you. You will have the privilege of sleeping within Yezzan's own pavilion. It pleases him to keep his treasures close."

Tyrion gripped her tighter.

"First, all of you must be fitted for collars."

The collars were made of iron, silvered to make them shine in the light. Yezzan's name was incised into the metal in Varlyrian glyphs. Duck accepted the collar in sullen silence, Griff with rage in his eyes, Haldon quickly, Lemore with a look of disgust, and Aegon with…with a vacant expression.

Selene looked at the collar in her hand. To put it on was to become a thing, an object. She was once a princess, and a queen, and now she was not even human.

Tyrion saw her hesitate. "It's not forever, niece," he whispered. "Better a collar than a brand. A collar can be removed."

Selene glanced at the demon mask imprinted on Griff's face because of his disobedience and shuddered. _The person that tries to brand me like a cow will have to kill me first._ She put on the collar.

Afterward, Nurse had everyone's chains fastened to a stake near a cookfire while he escorted Selene inside the master's pavilion. She heard the sound of clinking and knew it was Tyrion struggling against his chains. Selene looked over a shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile that she hoped would say what she wanted to say. _Don't worry, Uncle. I'll be alright._

Nurse showed her where she would sleep, in a carpeted alcove separated from the main tent by walls of silk. She would be here alone, until the master called her.

"My things…" Selene said.

Nurse gestured to the alcove's corner, "Have already been brought for you."

Selene rushed to check. There they were. Her treasures. She checked the pommel on her sword to make sure the gems were still there and touched her winter dagger. She held them in her arms, her lion's cloak around her shoulders and her moonstone safe on her neck. _Thank the gods for this small mercy._

"If you please the master you will be rewarded," said Nurse. Selene turned to face him. "If not…" He reeled his hand back and slapped Selene hard across the face.

Rage burned in her chest, but she pushed it down as Nurse walked away. _That one deserves a sharp dagger in the chest._

"You will want to be careful with Nurse," said a rough voice from behind the silks. "He is the only true monster here."

"Who are you?" Selene asked.

"Barsena," the voice said. "The greatest warrior woman in Essos. And who are you?"

_Selene of House Baratheon, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms._ "Joanna Hill of Lannisport." It was easier to stick to the story she knew than craft a new one.

"Westerosi?" Barsena laughed. "Strange. Westerosi women are soft, silk-wearing breeding sows. Master only purchases warriors."

Selene grit her teeth, "Would you like to see how soft I am?"

Barsena laughed again, "Perhaps the Master purchased wisely."

Selene sighed, "What is he like?"

"He has dark, almond-shaped Dothraki eyes, and he is hard. He trains us to be the best fighters. He knows how to pick the winners, or the ones who will provide the most entertainment. I wonder which you are."

Their conversation was cut short when Selene was allowed to bathe. Slaves filled a tub with hot water, and Selene was given no privacy. Afterward, another slave spread a stinging ointment across the cuts on her back to keep them from festering, then covered them with a cool poultice. Selene's hair was combed, and she was given soft slippers and fresh clothing: a billowing black silk dress that cinched at the waist and left little to the imagination, the top connecting with her collar.

As evening fell, Nurse returned to tell her it was time for her to work. Yezzan would be hosting the Yunkish supreme commander, and she would be expected to serve them.

"You will help serve and pour. See that you do not spill on the guests, or it will go ill for you."

Selene watched her new master eat with his guests. The human prune in the place of honor was evidently the Yunkish supreme commander, who looked about as formidable as a loose stool. A dozen other Yunkish lords attended him. One sellsword captain was on hand as well, accompanied by a dozen men of his company. He was an elegant Pentoshi, grey-haired and clad in silk but for his cloak, a ragged thing sewn from a dozen strips of torn, bloodstained cloth.

"You're up," Nurse informed her. "Be silent and be beautiful, my darling, or you will wish you had."

Selene swallowed nervously and took a turn around the table, pouring wine into each goblet. Another girl, it must have been Barsena, started on the opposite side of the table. She was tall, dark, and lean, though an old injury must have broken her nose. Selene saw the muscles corded in her arms and knew she must have been a formidable warrior. She walked with a warrior's grace.

Selene avoided the eyes of every man in the tent, pouring and staying silent. She could feel the lust in the air, but none dared to touch her. _Because I belong to the host._ Rage and shame rose in her chest. _They can put a collar on me, a thousand chains if they wish, but I am no one's property. I won't be in this collar for long._

Yezzan's eyes were the most intense. She heard something said in a low tone to him and he said something back in a language she didn't understand, earning ringing laughter from his guests. _At my expense, no doubt._

The more purple wine Selene poured, the looser the tongues became. One Yunkishman declared drunkenly that Yezzan should make his slave girls fuck, and another demanded to know how Selene had gotten the scar on her shoulder. A sharp answer rose to her tongue…but she needed to survive long enough to break her chains. "I was cut to punish me for insolence, my lord."

Then a lord in a blue _tokar_ recalled that Selene had boasted of her skill at _cyvasse_ on the auction block. "Let us put her to the test," he said. A table and set of pieces were duly produced. A scant few moments later, the red-faced lord shoved the table over in fury, scattering the pieces across the carpets to the sound of Yunkish laughter.

Selene was grinning. As long as she was playing _cyvasse,_ and not being used like a whore, she could survive.

"You should have let him win," Barsena whispered in warning.

It was the master himself who lifted the fallen table, smiling, "Try me next, girl. When I was younger, I spent time in Volantis and learned the game there."

Selene didn't know what to say, so she only bowed her head until the scattered pieces were picked up off the carpet, and they sat down to play.

Selene won the first game. Yezzan took the second, for double the stakes. As they set up for their third contest, she studied her opponent. Brown-skinned, his cheeks and jaw covered by a close-cropped bristly beard of grey and white, his face creased by a few wrinkles and old scars, Yezzan had an amiable look to him, especially when he smiled.

It was all a lie. He was a slave owner, and his smiles never touched his eyes, where greed hid behind a veil of caution. _Hungry, but wary, this one._

He was nearly as bad a player as the Yunkish lord had been, but his play was solid and tenacious rather than bold. His opening arrays were different every time, yet all the same - conservative, defensive, passive. _He does not play to win,_ Selene realized. _He plays so as not to lose._ It worked in their second game, when Selene overreached herself with an unsound assault. It did not work in the third game, nor the fourth, nor the fifth, which proved to be their last.

Near the end of the final contest, with his fortress in ruins, his dragon dead, elephants before him and heavy horse circling round his rear, Yezzan looked up smiling and said, "You win again. Death in four."

"Three," Selene tapped her dragon. "I was lucky." Grinning, she pushed back from the _cyvasse_ table, picked up her wine flagon, and continued pouring for the guests, his eyes following her.

When the supreme commander Yurkhaz zo Yunzak departed, supported by a pair of burly slaves, that seemed to be a general signal for the other guests to take their leave as well. After the tent emptied out, Nurse reappeared to tell the servers that they might make their own feast from the leavings. "Eat quickly. All this must be clean again before you sleep."

Selene was on her knees, scrubbing a wine stain a guest left on the carpet, when the overseer tapped her cheek gently with the end of his whip, "Joanna. You have done well. On your feet."

Selene rose unsteadily, one leg trembling beneath her. Her legs were in knots, so cramped that Barsena had to lend her a hand to pull her up to her feet. "What have I done?"

"Much and more," said the overseer. "I said you would be rewarded if you pleased your father, did I not? The noble Yezzan is loath to lose his treasure, but it would be selfish of him to keep them to himself. Rejoice! To celebrate the signing of the peace, you shall have the honor of fighting in the lower pits. Stay alive long enough and you may one day perform at Great Pit of Daznak. Thousands will come to see you! Tens of thousands! And, oh, how we shall cheer!"

###

Selene was woken in the middle of the night by a slave. He said nothing, only gestured for her to come with him. Worry knotted in her stomach, but she did. He led her to the central pavilion, which transformed into a bedchamber when not a hall. There Yezzan sat in his white sleeping shift, staring at her.

Selene stood frozen at the entrance.

"Come in, come in," he said kindly. When she slowly began to walk forward, he stood and poured two goblets of wine. Handing one to her, he watched in amusement as she drained it in one gulp.

He poured her another one. "I count no day as lived unless I have loved a woman, slain a foe, and eaten a fine meal," he said amiably. "And I have done two of those three already."

Selene's breath was coming in pants. She looked away, nodded, and went to sit on the bed. _I did this for Tyrion. I did this for Tyrion. I did this for Tyrion._ She leaned back and shut her eyes.

That somehow made it worse. She felt fingertips graze her knees. She bit her lip to keep it from shaking.

"You misunderstand me," he said.

Selene opened her eyes. He held a dagger in his hand.

Pressing with all her strength on her feet, she vaulted to the side as the blade came down on the bed. She leapt to her feet.

He nodded approvingly, and tossed her a blade hilt-first. She caught the dagger, spun it to get a good feel, and levelled.

Yezzan smiled knowingly, "It seems my gamble has paid off. You are no whore, are you?" With that, he charged her.

Selene leapt to the side, pushing his wrist away. She threw herself forward with the dagger, he grabbed her wrist and twisted. Selene followed the motion through, and when she turned she threw her leg back. It hit his arm firmly. He grunted, releasing her. Selene rushed forward, he side-stepped, and then grabbed and twisted her shoulder, holding the blade firmly to her throat.

She could feel his grin in her ear, "You'll have to do better than that if you want to survive the pits."

Selene didn't respond, only lightly pressed the tip of her dagger into him. He looked down, shocked, and saw that he may have had a blade at her throat, but her own was poised and ready to sink into his gut.

"Hmm," he breathed. "Good, I suppose." He released her.

Yezzan tucked a hand under his chin and studied her, "With your black sword and that lion cloak, you are sure to make quite an appearance. _The Warrior Maiden._ What do you think? Or perhaps _The Lioness?"_

"What?" Selene was lost.

"I don't buy bedslaves, though I can't say I'm not tempted."

"But…you bought my-the next three lots on the promise that I would lie with you."

Yezzan shrugged, "I wanted to see if you would, but it's not the bedding that interested me."

Selene stared at him, bewildered.

His eyes glinted, "It was the proposal of marriage." When Selene's look of confusion didn't shift, he explained, "A woman born and raised in slavery would never make such an offer. It's an insult to the master. What master would marry his own property? It's akin to marrying your horse. But a free woman, a woman with a title, from nobility…it would be a tempting offer."

Selene's hand twitched.

Yezzan smiled, "Who are you? So beautiful, with battle scars and skill at arms."

"I'm a bastard from Lannisport."

He laughed, "Do you think I can't tell when someone is lying? I've made it my life's work. There is no worth in a bastard wife. Should I sell the dwarf to make you confess?"

Selene's mind was whirling, "Alright, alright! I'll tell you the truth."

Yezzan waited patiently.

"I-I am," Selene met his gaze and set her shoulder's back, "I am the Kingslayer's daughter."

Yezzan's eyes widened.

Selene continued, "I _am_ a bastard, born from a dalliance between the Kingslayer and my mother, a maid in service to House Lannister when he younger." The lies came quickly, and Selene tried her best to look like it pained her to reveal this new identity. "Luckily, I inherited my mother's dark hair and blue eyes. If I had been born with Lannister coloring, all of Casterly Rock would have known."

"How do you expect me to believe you?"

"That's why my name is Joanna," Selene pressed on. "I was named to honor his late mother, the Lady Joanna Lannister."

Yezzan nodded slowly.

Selene kept on, "My father ensured that my life was paid for, but my grandfather Tywin would not let me live on the Rock. I was raised on a ship with a septa to teach me the ways of the faith, a maester to teach me sums and history, men at arms to train me, and-" Selene prayed Tyrion would forgive her for this, "a dwarf to entertain me. My ship was wrecked in a storm, and slavers found us."

"You're a Lannister?"

_Perhaps this is first time I have told the absolute truth._ "I am a Lannister by blood, but not in name."

Yezzan smiled, "I knew you were a good find. _The Kingslayer's Daughter._ Or how about _The Lion's Daughter?_

Selene stayed silent.

"No matter," Yezzan waved his hand dismissively. "I'll think of something by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes. For your first fight."


	48. A Dance With Dragons

Selene sharpened her weapon with slaves all around her.

She observed them all. Pale Qartheen, black Summer Islanders, copper-skinned Dothraki, Tyroshi with colorful beards, Lamb Men, sullen Braavosi… From all over the world they came here to die. Slave fighters. _Like me._ They waited in the dark rocky passage besides the pit. It wasn't the grand show, she had been told. She was to fight in one of the lower pits first. It was styled like a tournament, though if she did not triumph today she would not live to see the victor.

She was surely dressed for a show. Eleni's cloak around her shoulders made her look formidable, though she was scantily clad at best. They had given her flimsy leathers meant to entertain the masses, not protect her from weaponry. It took all her willpower not to rub at the war paint they had streaked on her face. A few black lines that stretched from her lips to her chin, and an assortment of red streaks around her eyes. _A lion indeed._

Selene was fidgeting in her seat. Haldon, Lemore, and Tyrion had been left at camp, but the others were just around the cavern bend, awaiting their turn _._

The hairy Westerosi knight, who had been sold with Aegon, sat beside her. He was giving her a strange look.

"What?" Selene snapped. It annoyed her to no end to see someone in comfortable, practical leathers while she was dressed like a mummer.

"Worry not, my lady," he said gruffly. "I will protect you."

 _My lady?_ Selene gave him another look. The Westerosi knight was a large middle-aged man with a black beard and slight balding at the top of his head. Still strong and fit, he was short and wore wool and leather despite the sweltering heat.

"Who were you, ser?" Selene asked. "Before you were in chains?"

"No one, my lady," the man replied. "Just a knight."

"Who did you serve?"

The look he gave her was sad, "You would not know the family."

"Try me."

The knight looked away, "I served no one."

"A knight who served no one?" Selene replied skeptically. She looked away, "I suppose it doesn't matter, does it? Now that we're about to die."

"I am going to protect you."

"Why?" she asked. "You owe me nothing. Or even know me."

"I know you are highborn. The way you carry yourself makes that plain enough. I know you are of Westeros. Your accent cannot lie. I do not know how you came to be here, but I am a knight. I swore a vow to the Maiden to protect all women. I will not let you come to harm."

 _This knight is grasping for purpose,_ Selene realized. _His spirit died when they put him in chains, and now he needs a reason to live and fight._ "And if we are the last two standing?" Selene asked. "There can only be one winner today."

The knight grimaced, "Then I would appreciate a clean death."

Selene laughed at his bluntness. "Well, may I at least know the name of my savior?"

The knight gave her a ghost of a smile, "Ser Jorah Mormont."

Selene gaped. " _Mormont?!"_ All the other fighters turned at her outburst, but she didn't care. She was on the other side of the world, in a land more foreign than she could believe, and a Mormont sat beside her.

Ser Jorah frowned, "You know my family?"

" _Know_ them?" Selene was smiling. "The Mormonts were some of my most loyal supporters." Her smile dipped. "Dacey was my friend."

That took Ser Jorah aback, " _Your_ loyal supporters? Wait," the knight paused, "you know my cousin?

Selene frowned. _I knew her. He doesn't know._

The Mormont knight was giving her a strange look again, "Who are you?"

They were interrupted when their master appeared at the mouth of the cave. The men turned to face him.

"Many worthy fighters have died trying to make it to the great games. When most of you worthless scum join them in death this afternoon it will represent a significant rise in your station. But," his eyes drifted to Selene, "if you do happen to triumph here, you will fight at the Great Pit of Daznak itself in front of the queen. So whatever happens, the gods have smiled upon you today. This is the day your lives start to mean something."

He went around pointing at certain men. Some Lyseni, a couple Dothraki, a few Braavosi…and Selene.

Swallowing, she stood. Mormont wasn't chosen for this round.

" _Valar Morghulis_. Prepare yourselves," Yezzan instructed.

 _All men must die._ " _Valar Dohaeris,_ " Selene answered with the rest of the chosen fighters. _All men must serve._

Selene turned to Mormont and smiled, "If something happens to me, I'm glad the last person I spoke to was a Mormont of Bear Island." She bowed deeply, "Ser."

The knight's eyes fell to the stag on her pommel. Onyx and gold. He looked back at her eyes, her hair, the lion cloak around her shoulders... His eyes widened with realization.

Selene smiled. _When I die out there today, at least someone will know who I truly was._

Ser Jorah gave a pained look and struggled against his chains as Selene walked toward the mouth of the cave. She stood behind the other fighters, drew her cloak over her head, and took a deep breath as the iron gate swung open.

Selene's eyes adjusted to the brightness. The pit was small and packed with dirt, with rocks lining the sparring area. As she walked toward the center with the other fighters, Selene watched as Yezzan straightened and rushed toward the platform that had been raised. Her eyes followed him until she saw who sat on the dais.

It was Daenerys Targaryen.

It had to be. Her silver hair was bound in braids, but ringlets fell over her shoulders. She was wearing a white gown, and her lilac eyes shone in the sunlight. _She is a true Targaryen,_ Selene thought in wonder. She still had her doubts about Aegon, and his hair had always been dyed blue, but Daenerys was different from the first. _Her paternity cannot be questioned,_ Selene thought. _She is the blood of Old Valyria, the Mad King's daughter, the Mother of Dragons, and…the girl from my dreams._

Daenerys's eyes met her own, her brows drawing together at the sight of Selene. _Does she feel it, too?_ Selene wondered. _Can she feel the bond we share? Kinswomen. Daughters and sisters and wives to kings. Queens in our own right._ Selene felt naked, as if with one look Daenerys could see her entire past.

The dragon queen leaned in and spoke to the Meereenese man beside her, her eyes never leaving Selene's. _Her new husband? Are they speaking of me?_ Around them were armed guards with a vast array of uniforms. _Some plain leathers, spears, and pointed hats, some Dothraki, and one in a knight's finery with a snowy white cloak._ Selene frowned. _Is that supposed to be her Queensguard?_

Selene was hardly paying attention to Yezzan as he introduced the fighters. The small crowd cheered along with each introduction.

"From the Dothraki Sea…the Pale Mare!" Yezzan was announcing a rare find, a Dothraki with blonde hair.

"And all the way from the Sunset Kingdoms, the beautiful and fearless…Lioness of Casterly Rock!"

Selene forced herself not to wince. _Word will spread of that name,_ she thought. _Mother will know where we are._ But Selene was more interested in Daenerys' reaction. The dragon queen's frown deepened. _Now at the very least she knows me to be her countrywoman._

Yezzan went around straightening his fighters. " _It's the fucking queen,_ " he hissed under his breath. Selene fought a smile. _He did not expect her today._

A part of Selene wanted to rush forward and tell Daenerys Targaryen the truth. A part of her wanted to beg the dragon queen to rescue her from the pit, but her feet would not move. _I will not come to her a beggar,_ thought the part of herself that was more Baratheon pride than Lannister cunning. _I would rather die in the mud than fall on my knees before a Targaryen._

" _We fight and die for your glory, O Glorious Queen,_ " Yezzan whispered fiercely.

"We fight and die for your glory, O Glorious Queen!" the slaves chanted grandly after a clap from Yezzan. Selene's lips stayed shut as she held Daenerys' gaze. No one noticed, except the dragon queen.

The next moment was chaos. Selene leapt aside, putting as much space between her and the others as possible, her back to the stone ring. _Don't let anyone get behind you,_ instructed a voice that sounded a lot like Ser Barristan.

One Lyseni boy around her age ran up to her screaming, wildly swinging an axe. Selene ducked and drew her sword across his belly. She shut her eyes as blood sprayed her. When she opened them again, a Dothraki with a blade curved as she had never seen before was charging her. Selene spun out of the way, slicing up with her sword. She heard the scream, but didn't have enough time to watch him fall before another slave ran toward her.

 _The battle fever,_ Jaime had once called it. She had felt it at Oxcross, and here it was again. Oxcross was different, though. It had been the middle of the night and she had been high on horseback. Here in the pit all the blood and guts were in broad daylight, and so close the stench was overwhelming. She was forced to watch the expression on every man's face as he died.

Every muscle in her body was wound tight as she stepped through the mud and blood. Screams were all around her, and it was all Selene could do to keep one enemy before her at a time. Selene smashed a man in the face with the pommel of her sword, opened a spearman from stomach to groin, and narrowly dodged a blade intended for her chest. Men were crawling, bleeding, or still, but it was the men on their feet that Selene was wary off. _There is only the fight,_ came Jaime's voice. _T_ _his man and then the next and the next and the next, and they are afraid and tired but you're not, you're alive and death is all around you but their swords move so slowly, you can dance through them laughing._ Men twice her size charged her. _Be quicker, not stronger,_ came Ser Barristan as she rolled and sliced. _Aim for the points that will bring them down quick and run._

 _"_ _You will never be stronger, do you understand?" Selmy asked years ago._

_Selene was silent, her teeth grinding._

_"_ _Say it."_

_Selene's voice was thick, "I will never be stronger."_

_His words have saved my life more times than I can count,_ Selene thought as she jumped away from a spear point.

 _Fight smarter, not harder._ Selene turned on her heel as the sword meant for her face sunk into the opponent behind her. _Be quicker, not stronger._ She rolled away from an axe as a Tyroshi brought it down with all his strength.

_I am the storm, like my father before me._

But there were too many. One moment Selene was on the offensive, the next she was barely dodging killing blows. One Lyseni blade flew by so close, Selene swore she was finished. As she cut down a Braavosii, the Pale Mare was upon her. She had barely any time to block his blow before he disarmed her. _This is it. My end._ Selene shut her eyes and braced for death.

The white knight from the dais was by her side. "Pick up your sword," the knight grunted.

Selene didn't need to be told twice. She lunged for it, just as the gate to the cavern swung open, and a burly knight joined the fight.

 _Mormont,_ Selene realized. He had put on a helm, but his clothes were the same. _Let's see if he was telling the truth about defending me._ He stormed in, kicking and fighting.

"To me," said the white knight. Selene should have thought twice, but didn't. _If he wanted me dead, he could have waited a moment more. I can trust him. At least for now._ There was something about his voice…

Selene didn't have the luxury of time to dwell on it. She turned and fought, cutting and slicing and chopping until all she saw was red.

In the end, they were the last three standing. Mormont, the white knight, and Selene. They leveled their blades at each other, but paused.

The Meereenese man beside Daenerys began to clap. Soon, the rest of the crowd followed suit. Daenerys was now standing, staring at the three of them with intense interest.

Mormont stepped forward solemnly. After a moment, he slowly removed his helm, staring up hopefully at the dragon queen.

The intrigue on her face died when she saw him. "Get him out of my sight," she commanded.

"Khaleesi, please," Ser Jorah begged as two guards appeared at his side, dragging him away. "I just need a moment of your time," he pleaded. His eyes swept around desperately, landing on Selene. "I've brought you a gift!"

_A gift?_

Daenerys hesitated, eyes flicking to Selene.

"Ask for her name!" Ser Jorah shouted.

The dragon queen looked back to Selene. "Step forward."

Selene did as she was bid. Blood was smeared over her body and leathers, and stray curls fell over her face.

Daenerys looked toward the white knight, "Why did you risk your life to save her?"

Selene turned her head. _Why, indeed?_ The knight stepped forward, his helm covering his face. Now that the heat of the battle had died, Selene was seeing him more clearly. _His voice, the way he walks, the way he fights… It couldn't be._

An aged voice came from the helm, "Because I could not watch her die, Your Grace. I am her sworn sword."

Selene's breath caught in her throat. It felt like someone was standing on her chest. "Barristan?" she breathed.

The man removed his helm. Beneath the steel was her white knight.

A slow smile spread on Selene's face and she leapt forward into Ser Barristan Selmy's arms. She was lucky for the paint, dirt, and blood on her face, as they helped to mask the tears.

"I thought I lost you," Selene's voice was thick.

"And I, you, Selene," he said softly.

"Her sworn shield?" Daenerys repeated. She looked to Selene, "Who are you?"

Selene turned back to the dragon queen, whose eyes were hard. But Ser Barristan was alive, he was _alive_ , and that gave her strength. Selene Baratheon took a few steps forward, meeting Daenerys Targaryen's eyes with those of steel.

"My name is Selene of House Baratheon."

###

The throne room was silent.

Daenerys Targaryen sat at the top of many stairs, her husband standing silently behind her, Ser Barristan to her right. Selene stood at the foot of the stairs beside Tyrion, the others waiting outside the throne room.

After a few tense moments, Daenerys said, "How do I know you are who you claim to be?"

"If only I were otherwise," Tyrion said dryly. Selene would have laughed if she wasn't aware that the wrong word could make her a dragon's lunch.

"Your Grace," Ser Barristan said to Daenerys, his use of title twinging Selene's heart, "I know these two well." Ser Barristan looked at Tyrion and nodded, "This is Tyrion of House Lannister, son to Lord Tywin-"

"The late Lord Tywin," Tyrion interrupted.

Ser Barristan looked taken aback, "Tywin Lannister is dead?"

"Thanks to us." Tyrion smiled at Daenerys and gave a small bow, "You are most welcome."

Daenerys' face remained unreadable.

"And this," Ser Barristan continued with a small smile, "is Selene Baratheon, the only trueborn child of King Robert."

"Of the Usurper, you mean?" Daenerys asked sharply, before turning back to Selene and Tyrion, "Why should I hear another word? You, whose father murdered my brother and you, whose brother murdered my father." Her nostrils flared, "Why should I not kill you both to avenge my family?"

"You want revenge against the Lannisters?" Tyrion asked. "I killed my mother, Joanna Lannister, on the day I was born. We killed my father, Tywin Lannister, with a bolt to the heart and a well placed blade. Together, we are the greatest Lannister killers of our time."

"So I should welcome you to my service because you've murdered members of your own family?"

"Into your service?" Selene asked. "You call yourself the Breaker of Chains, yet I was bought and sold into the fighting pits in _your_ city. I will never serve a slaver."

Tyrion shot her a warning glance.

Daenerys turned to her husband, "I ordered that only free men would be allowed to fight in the pits."

The man shifted uncomfortably, "That ordered was declared, Your Radiance. Some slavers must have slipped though."

"Check them again," Daenerys ordered. "I will have only free men in the pits."

Her husband gave a low bow before leaving the throne room.

Daenerys looked back to Selene, "Why did Ser Jorah say you were a gift?"

Selene shrugged, "I don't know. We had just met. Perhaps he believed you would receive great enjoyment from my execution?"

"Perhaps I will."

"When I was a young man," Tyrion began, trying to regain control of the conversation, "I heard a story about a baby born during the worst storm in living memory. She had no wealth, no lands, no army…only a name. She was eventually sold off to some warlord on the edge of the world, and that was the end of that. Then a few years later, I was told that the girl without wealth, lands, or armies had somehow acquired all three in a very short span of time…along with three dragons. I was told she was our best, last chance to save the Seven Kingdoms. Thought you were worth meeting at the very least."

"And why are you worth meeting?" Daenerys asked. "Why should I spend my time listening to you?"

"Because you can't rule on your own," Tyrion explained. "My niece and I are the rightful heirs to the westerlands and the stormlands, two of the seven kingdoms you wish to rule. You have no one by your side who understands those kingdoms, or the strengths and weaknesses of the Houses that will join or oppose you."

"I have Ser Barristan."

"One of the greatest knights to ever live," Tyrion conceded, "but no politician."

"I will have a very large army. And very large dragons."

"Killing and politics are not always the same thing," Tyrion countered. "When I was Hand of the King, I did quite well despite the fact that the king in question preferred torturing women to ruling. I could do an even better job advising a ruler worth the name. If that is indeed what you are."

"So you want to advise me?" Daenerys asked, before turning to Selene, "And what do you want?"

"What is mine by rights," Selene said. "Storm's End. And the lives of my brother and sister, children who are innocent of the crimes of their family."

"That is a lot to ask of me," Daenerys mused. "And what do I get in return for those gifts?"

 _A loyal supporter?_ The words would not come out of Selene's mouth, and Daenerys knew it.

Daenerys smirked, "I see." She said something in a different language to her guards, and Selene and Tyrion were led to the side as the others were brought in.

It was Aegon and Griff. They hadn't been cleaned, and were still in their fighting leathers. The blue in Aegon's hair was faded and dirty.

"Who are you?" Daenerys asked.

Griff stepped forward and bent his knee, "Your Grace, my name is Jon Connington. I was Lord of Griffin's Roost and Hand of the King to your father Aerys, until I was exiled for failing him at the Battle of the Bells."

"Your Grace," Ser Barristan said, "The last we heard of Connington, he had drunk himself to death in service to the Golden Company."

"A lie," Connington said, "intended for me to hide and play my role in the Targaryen restoration."

Daenerys frowned, "Strange. This is the first I am hearing of you, my lord."

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but you were not the Targaryen I intended to restore to the Iron Throne."

Daenerys looked more confused then upset. "I am the last Targaryen." She glanced at Tyrion and Selene, "Their two families saw to that."

Aegon stepped forward, "My name is Aegon Targaryen, trueborn son of your brother Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia Martell of Dorne."

Selene watched Daenerys take in this information. Her eyes widened, she turned her head slightly to Ser Barristan, "Is this possible?"

Ser Barristan was frowning, "Your Grace, Tywin Lannister presented the bodies of Elia's children in Lannister banners to Robert when…"

"When he usurped my father, yes, I know," Daenerys said. "But is it possible the real Aegon could have escaped?"

"Perhaps, Your Grace," Ser Barristan conceded. "Men bold enough to lift the banners said that Aegon's head was in ruins."

Daenerys stood, and slowly began to walk down the steps to her nephew, "Years ago in Qarth, I had visions of what could have been and what might be…" her footsteps echoed in the complete silence of the room, "And I was warned of people in my future…" she stood before Aegon, her lilac eyes taking in his own indigo. "One vision was that of a paper dragon being hoisted by a crowd, but it was a mummer's dragon."

Aegon bristled, "I assure you, Your Grace, I am who I say I am."

"Who assures me?" Daenerys interrupted.

"Varys was the one who saved me."

"So I have the word of the Spider? The man who has oversaw the campaign to find and kill me my entire life?"

"And my word, Your Grace," Connington spoke up.

"Did Princess Elia give the babe to you personally?" asked Daenerys. "Did you see Aegon safely across the Narrow Sea yourself?"

Connington looked away, "No, Your Grace."

"I see," said Daenerys in a voice that suggested she did not. "So why have you come to Meereen?"

Aegon spoke, "We didn't mean to come here, Your Grace. We meant to go west to the Seven Kingdoms. We were attacked by slavers."

"Why west?"

Aegon straightened, "I meant to enlist the Golden Company and raise the dragon standard of our forebears in Westeros. I was going to fight to avenge my father and reclaim the Iron Throne for House Targaryen."

"A noble pursuit," Daenerys conceded. "How did you possibly hope to win being so outnumbered?"

Aegon bowed his head, "I had hoped that you would join me with your armies and dragons and…"

"And?"

"And take me for your husband and king."

Daenerys gave him a small smile, "Ah, I see. Well, unfortunately you come too late for that. I am married to my beloved Hizdahr zo Loraq, a son of an ancient and proud Meereense family."

"I am sorry to hear that, Your Grace," said Aegon bluntly.

"I'm sure you are." Daenerys looked over to Tyrion and Selene, "You say you've been travelling together?"

"Yes, Your Grace," said Tyrion.

"I am speaking to her."

Selene glanced at Tyrion and nodded.

Daenerys walked up to Selene until she was directly in front of her. _She is an otherworldly type of beauty,_ Selene thought. She had only ever read about the famed Targaryen silver hair and purple eyes from her books, but that was nothing compared to seeing it up close. Unlike the reverence shown by Connington, Aegon, and Tyrion, Selene did not flinch, bow, or look away as Daenerys approached. Her shoulders were set, her head high, and she held Daenerys' gaze.

_I will not be a supplicant._

Daenerys said nothing of Selene's demeanor, though she could see how much it disconcerted the queen. "Do you believe this boy is truly my brother's son?"

Selene's eyes flicked to Aegon. His own were filled with hope, but Selene was not about to lie.

"It is awfully convenient," Selene said after a while. Daenerys waited patiently for an explanation. "You become Queen of Meereen, amass a large army, hatch three dragons who grow stronger every day…and suddenly Rhaegar's long dead son appears, whose claim to the Iron Throne is stronger than your own."

Aegon reddened, but said nothing. Selene supposed she should have felt guilty, but it was what she truly believed. And she hadn't forgotten Aegon's threats toward Tommen and Myrcella.

"So he is a liar?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not… More proof is needed before you call him kin."

Daenerys smiled, "I need no such proof for you, though, do I?" She looked her up and down, "Selene Baratheon…the Usurper's own daughter...oh, what my brother Viserys would have given to have you at his mercy. I've heard much and more about you."

"Terrible things, I expect."

"I've heard your arrogance is only exceeded by your bloodlust."

"Sounds about right. I've heard you bed with animals. Rumors can't be trusted."

"It appears some rumors are true. I saw you in that pit. It seems you enjoy killing as much as your father."

Rage lanced in Selene's chest. _I will not let a Targaryen insult my father._ "You have me at a disadvantage. I have yet to observe you. Tell me, do you enjoy burning people alive as much as _your_ father?"

Daenerys' dangerous smile disappeared. Anger flashed in her eyes, but it was replaced by cold calculation, "I've heard enough rumor to know one thing for certain," she said. "You will never bow to me."

_I could. I could bend the knee and beg her forgiveness for my family's crimes against hers. I could renounce my father, his rebellion, and all the men, women, and children who suffered and died in his war. I could bow to the Mad Kings daughter, who burned men alive for amusement, to the sister of Rhaegar, who kidnapped and raped my father's betrothed. I could hail her as my queen and place a girl who is most likely mad on the Iron Throne._

_I would rather die._

"If you are asking for blind loyalty, you will need to go elsewhere," Selene finally said. "After all your family has done…do I not deserve to be skeptical of you?"

"Apologize for your father's rebellion," Daenerys commanded. "Apologize on behalf of your uncle the Kingslayer for shoving his sword in my father's back. Apologize for the deaths of Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon…for your father's murder of his crown prince."

Selene took a step forward. "Never," she said softly.

"Then you leave me no choice," Daenerys said with false sympathy. She turned and spoke to her guards in another language. Selene was grabbed by her arms and escorted from the throne room. The last thing she heard was Tyrion's pleas for mercy.

But unfortunately for Selene, they fell on deaf ears.

###

The rosy glow of the torches provided respite from the otherwise infinite blackness of the cold crypt. Selene had no idea how deep the crypts went, only that she could feel what awaited her, hiding in the darkness.

_Dragons._

Ser Barristan was still trying to save her, "Please, Your Grace. She just needs time to see you as I do-"

Daenerys cut him off, "She told me she would never bow to me. I cannot trust her."

Selene was silent. Behind her was a line of soldiers, spears out so she could not turn and run. Not that she would have. _Devoured by dragons,_ Selene mused. _Quite an exciting way to die._ It was also eerily poetic. _My father killed the dragon prince, and now dragons will kill me. The gods are hilarious._

"Your Grace," Ser Barristan made one last attempt, " _please_. I was made her sworn sword when she was a babe. I have watched her grow. I love her as if she were my own."

Selene bit her lip. It was impossible to prepare for death when she could hear the voice of a person she loved beg for her life. She thought of others she had loved: Eleni, Tommen and Myrcella, her uncles Tyrion and Jaime, her father, Robb and Jon both, the son she never knew but had so much love for... She kept their faces in her mind's eye. Selene wrapped their love around her like a cloak. They would have wanted her to be brave now.

This time Daenerys' sympathy sounded genuine, "And for that, Ser Barristan, I am truly sorry."

Chains rattled in the darkness.

"Walk forward," Daenerys commanded.

Selene's feet were frozen. Only the thought of her shoved forward by a spear made her take a tentative step. _I will not be dragged to death's door,_ she thought as she stepped. _I will look death calmly in the face and die with dignity._ Selene repeated this over and over and over in her mind, but that didn't stop her knees from feeling like jelly.

"Selene of House Baratheon," Daenerys intoned. "I, Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of my Name, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, sentence you to die."

Small flames appeared in the darkness, and Selene realized she was staring right into the face of a dragon. _Like my nightmares._ Selene took one last deep breath, shut her eyes, and welcomed death like an old friend.

" _Dracarys_."

The last thing Selene saw was flames.

###

Selene was blinded as intense brightness surrounded her. The cold crypt was suddenly the surface of the sun, and her skin blistered as flames leapt around her. As quickly as the brightness came, it went…and Selene was in the dark once more.

 _I am dead,_ Selene reasoned. _Strange. Death feels very much like life._ She tentatively opened one eye.

The dragon's face was level with her own. Its eyes were bronze, brighter than polished shields, and they glowed with their own heat. Its scales were the green of moss in a deep wood at dusk, just before the light fades, and they gleamed like jade in the torchlight.

Selene glanced down at the scorched floor. _Daenerys gave the order, didn't she? Why am I still drawing breath? Perhaps this was only meant to frighten me?_

That last question was answered when Selene heard Daenerys' voice from behind her.

"Rhaegal? _Dracarys."_

The green dragon threw his head up and roared, a stream of orange and yellow fire bursting forth above their heads.

 _Rhaegal,_ Selene thought in wonder. She was too awestruck to be afraid. Rhaegal's bronze eyes held her gaze. Selene was hypnotized.

Rhaegal's face tilted as he studied her, and Selene could see that dragons were far more than just beasts. _There is a soul behind those eyes._

Madness must have taken over then, because Selene took a step forward, her left hand shaking as she raised it.

Rhaegal gave a hesitant roar. Selene took a quick step back, almost bowing toward the dragon. _Bowing to a dragon? Now I have truly gone mad._

But when she looked up, Rhaegal was watching her intently. His nostrils flared as he smelled her and Selene could see his teeth, as long and sharp as swords.

Selene extended her hand once more. This time Rhaegal did not roar. Her fingers shook as she gently placed them on the dragon's snout. When he let her, a breath of relief rushed from her chest. She looked up into his intelligent eyes, watching the dragon blink, his pupils dilating.

 _I should write that down,_ Selene thought, but she was too mesmerized to do anything but stare.

From behind Rhaegal, another dragon appeared. Cream instead of green, gold instead of bronze, the other dragon let out a roar at Selene.

Rhaegal in turn roared at his brother in protest. The cream dragon huffed in annoyance before slinking back into the darkness. It was only then that Selene saw the large chain around the dragon's neck. Rhaegal turned back to Selene and extended his neck. Selene smiled in disbelief as she ran her fingers over the hardened scales. Rhaegal was making a strange noise, and it took a moment for Selene to understand what he was doing. Only because she recognized the behaviour in Eleni. _Is Rhaegal…purring?_ Selene nearly laughed with astonishment. _What is happening?_

It seemed Daenerys was just as confused. She ordered something in Meereenese, and before Selene knew otherwise, she was being dragged back up the stairs and out of the crypt, too shocked to put up a fight.

The last thing she heard was Rhaegal's earsplitting roar in the darkness.


	49. The Dragon Has Three Heads

Daenerys Targaryen had no idea what to do with her, which was why Selene Baratheon found herself confined to one of the rooms in the Great Pyramid.

Selene counted herself fortunate. She could have been thrown in a dark, icy cell deep in the earth, but instead she had a large window where she could watch the sky and Meereen down below.

She tried remembering what she knew of Meereen from her studies. The largest and most formidable of the cities along Slaver's Bay, Meereen was as large as Astapor and Yunkai combined. Like them, the city was made of brick, but Meereen's bricks were of many different colors. The city walls in the distance were studded with bastions and anchored by great defensive towers at every angle. Selene could see the glimmer of a distant river past the city's north wall, and the bay in the west. Within the city there were narrow twisting alleys and wide brick streets, temples, granaries, palaces, brothels, baths, gardens, fountains, and fighting pits.

There were pyramids dotted around the city, but the Great Pyramid was in the centre and stood taller than all the rest. If Selene leaned out the window and looked up, she could just make out a great bronze harpy on top of its apex.

Selene wished for something, anything, to do. She would wake, stretch, and do her sword exercises. It felt a bit pointless without Stormsbane, but she needed something to do.

The door opened.

Selene turned as an Unsullied soldier brought her food.

"Thank you."

Silence, as usual. _What I would give to hear another person's voice._ She was worried about Tyrion. Last she saw him, she had been dragged out of the throne room to be executed. What happened next would take up most of her thoughts for weeks.

_Rhaegal._

That encounter had left her head spinning. When she was a little girl, before she understood anything about her father's rebellion, she often dreamt of dragons. She read about them voraciously, and Tyrion would send her rare books written during the Targaryen dynasty. Once, Grandmaester Pycelle mentioned her fascination in passing to her father in a small council meeting. It was the first time Selene had ever been scared of her father.

_Robert burst into her bedchamber._

_"Selene?"_

_She was reading in her plush chair by the balcony, her favorite spot. From there, she could see the ocean. She was nearing the end of the book called "The Conqueror's Dragon," which was all men knew of Balerion the Black Dread. It was quite a large tome for a seven-year-old to read, but in his letter, Tyrion assured her she could handle it._

_Selene looked up from her book. "Father!" she smiled and stood before bowing to her father the king._

_Robert went straight past her and grabbed the tome. He read the cover. "Who gave this to you?"_

_Selene shrunk back. She didn't want to lie, but his tone frightened her. "No one."_

_"Do not lie to me, girl."_

_Selene stared at her shoes. She had seen her father's anger directed at others, but never before at her. "Uncle Tyrion."_

_"The Imp?" Robert frowned. Selene had heard people call her uncle that name, but wasn't sure what it meant. "You shouldn't be reading this nonsense."_

_"It's not nonsense!" Selene argued, her temper flaring. "I'm reading about dragons, Father! They're real."_

_Robert gave her a look, "There are no more dragons."_

_Selene crossed her arms, "You're lying!" She could see the storm brewing in him at her discourtesy, but did not care to stop. She was too young to heed sense, and the same storm in him was in her, too._

_Robert's face was the purple of thunderclouds, but her father took several deep breaths._ _Once he calmed himself down, he got down on one knee, "I'm not, sweetling. The dragons are dead, as well as the Targaryens."_

_"That's not true, Father." Selene smiled triumphantly, knowing she had him here. "_ We're _Targaryens! I've seen the family tree. Your grandmother was a Targaryen princess. We could ride dragons one day, too!"_

_A darkness fell over Robert's face. He stood slowly, walked to the balcony and, with all his strength, hurled the tome into the sea._

_"No!" Selene cried. She ran to the railing, which was nearly her height. She watched as pages flew from the cover, watched the book go spinning into nothing._

_She was crying, "That was one of the only copies left."_

_Robert kneeled once more, "Listen to me, Selene. We are Baratheons, do you understand? You and I."_ _He smiled, "You're my brave doe, remember?"_

_Selene sniffled, "But-"_

_"The Targaryens were just as monstrous as their dragons. The world is a better place without them. Do you understand?"_

_Selene nodded, "We are Baratheons."_

_"Who?"_

_"You and I."_

_"Our words?"_

_"Ours is the Fury."_

_Robert nodded, "This is the last I will hear of this."_

And it was. After that day, Selene took great care to keep her interest in dragons a secret she shared only with Tyrion. She had been shaken up by Robert's sudden rage and aggression, and had even confided in Jaime about it.

_"He frightened me, Uncle."_

_Jaime was angry about that, "I'm sorry, cub. Your father…his hatred for the Targaryens is a madness within him."_

Selene was roused from her thoughts when her door opened.

She turned, frowning. _I still have a few more hours before the next meal._

It was Tyrion.

Selene brightened, "Uncle!" She ran to him, fell to her knees, and threw her arms around him.

Tyrion returned the embrace, "It's so good to see you, Selene."

She smiled at him, "What are you doing here? Have you come against her wishes?"

There was no need to specify who Selene meant by _her._

Tyrion shook his head, "No, she allowed it."

Selene frowned, "She already trusts you."

"Are you surprised? You know how charming I can be." When Selene didn't say anything, Tyrion sighed, "She has accepted me into her service. I'm advising her."

"How could you? How could you serve the woman who tried to execute me?"

"You have to look at it from both sides," Tyrion reasoned, much to Selene's annoyance. "Yes, to you she's the Mad King's daughter. But to her you're the Usuper's daughter. Neither of you are to blame for any of it. It's unfair for you to hold each other accountable."

"Where were you when she sentenced me to death?" Selene said angrily.

"Worrying out of my wits," Tyrion snapped. "Trust me, niece. Since then I've been advising her. Telling her exactly what I'm telling you now."

Selene stood, scoffing, "I can't believe you would serve that…that…"

"What?"

"That _monster._ "

"Actually, she's quite-"

"She tried to feed me to her dragons!"

Tyrion grew serious. "I've had many terrifying moments in my life, niece," he said quietly. "Watching you being dragged out of that throne room…I thought I would never see you again." He cleared his throat. "Speaking of. Daenerys is losing her mind."

"What? Why?"

"No one has ever made a connection with her dragons like that," Tyrion explained. "It's difficult for me to understand, as I wasn't there, but Daenerys...she told me that Rhaegal refused to kill you. He even stopped Viserion from doing so."

"Viserion? The white dragon?"

Tyrion nodded, "Did you… _pet_ Rhaegal?"

"I had a moment of madness. He could have devoured me, burned me, torn me in two, but…I don't know, Uncle. I can't explain what I felt. It was almost like the feeling I had with Eleni, except…"

"Except?" Tyrion prompted.

"Well, my bond with Eleni made sense. I rescued her as a cub, practically raised her. Rhaegal…"

"-is a dragon." Tyrion smiled ruefully, "I can't say I don't envy you, niece. This is what we used to dream of."

Selene smiled, "I never dared hope I would see a dragon. And I _felt_ something with Rhaegal. Something in my bones."

"Your Targaryen blood," Tyrion guessed. "What else could it be?"

Selene sighed, "I suppose it doesn't matter, does it? Daenerys will never let me near her dragons again."

"Not necessarily."

"What?"

"One of the reasons Daenerys is losing her mind is because she's been _looking_ for someone like you."

Selene was absolutely lost. "What are you talking about?"

Tyrion sighed, pouring two goblets of wine, "Remember what she said in the throne room? About hearing prophecies in Qarth?"

Selene nodded as Tyrion handed her the goblet.

He sat at the table, "Well, she heard many things. One was _the dragon has three heads._ "

Selene frowned as she sat, "A three headed dragon? Like her standard?"

Tyrion nodded, "Daenerys believed it meant that there are two other Targaryens out in the world somewhere. Two others to ride beside her."

_Like in my dreams._ "So….I'm one of heads?"

Tyrion shrugged, "Perhaps. She's looking for two Targaryens, and you and Aegon fall into her lap. It's quite the coincidence. Aegon is desperate to prove himself, but Daenerys won't let him near the dragons yet."

"Why not? It seems the fastest way to find the truth."

Tyrion grinned, "Because I have a plan. And we need Aegon alive. No use risking his death."

Selene gave him a side glance. She knew Tyrion's strategizing face when she saw it, "What are you up to, Uncle?"

"In due time, niece." Tyrion changed the subject, "Your encounter with Rhaegal has made Daenerys think you could be one of the heads, but there is a problem."

Selene waited.

"You're a _Baratheon,_ Selene. The daughter of the man who overthrew the Targaryen dynasty. Even if you could successfully ride a dragon, what's to stop you from turning against Daenerys? From claiming the Iron Throne? From using Rhaegal against her?"

Selene only heard one thing. "You…do you really think I could ride a dragon?" It was almost too much to hope for.

Tyrion gave her a small smile, "Perhaps, niece. Perhaps."

Selene looked out to the balcony, at the blazing blue sky. She wondered what it would be like to soar above the highest clouds.

_What if I rode Rhaegal?_ Selene couldn't stop the smile that rose to her lips. _I could go wherever I wished. I could retake Storm's End. Rescue Tommen and Myrcella from the people who control them._ Her mind went further. _I could ride to the Wall and…_ What? Ask Jon to leave to Night's Watch? Then her mind began to strategize. _I could rally the rest of the stormlanders...the loyalists in the North…the Martells might join me if I-_

"I know that look," Tyrion interrupted her thoughts. "That look means trouble."

"Think of it, Tyrion-"

"No," he said firmly. "Selene, no. A dragon is not enough. I thought you didn't want the throne?"

"Better I than a mad Targaryen!" Selene argued hotly.

"Best not to say that when you speak with her."

Selene looked away as Tyrion went on, "She's going to summon you to her chambers and speak of dragons and prophecies. Try to…"

"What?"

"Be nice?"

Selene stood, scoffing.

"You might find you both have more in common than you think," Tyrion said in exasperation as Selene walked to the balcony. "She reminds me of you, you know."

"That's not funny, Tyrion."

"I wish I was joking," he told her, sipping some wine. "Speak with her."

Selene sighed, "I have nothing else to do. I'm losing my wits in this room."

"Ah, I thought you might say something like that."

Selene heard a _thud,_ and turned to find a book on the table. She gave Tyrion a suspicious look, walked over, and gently turned the cover over on the old tome.

Selene read the title. Then she read it again. And again.

_It can't be._

Tyrion was looking incredibly proud of himself. "I had the library searched for any books about Westeros, or written in the Common Tongue…and imagine my surprise when I find…" he pointed at the book, " _this._ "

Selene looked back at the precious book. _Nettles, the Boldest of the Dragonseeds._

She looked back at Tyrion in disbelief.

Tyrion beamed. "Quite a title she chose for herself." He edged forward in his seat, excited, "It's all in her own hand. Everything she knew about herself, her involvement in the Dance, and her bond with Sheepstealer. I hope this makes the days a bit easier," Tyrion said as he stood to leave. "You'll be free soon, niece."

Selene barely heard him. She took the book to bed and read until her eyes shut.

When she opened them, she found the book open beside her. Selene continued to read until she reached the end of the book. Then she read it again. And again. Until her eyes blurred, until she could nearly recite every word from memory.

The ending made her eyes well up.

_'So here I sit at the end of my days,'_ Nettles wrote. _'_ _Alone, except for Sheepstealer of course. All the people in my life I have known and loved, everything I fought for, every decision I made…led me here. To this. Would I do anything differently? I spent my life dreaming and living for myself, and I was happy. A war came, my queen called for my service, and I dedicated my life to her…for what? Heartbreak. Betrayal. Grief. Having to watch men lesser than myself gain eternal glory while all I receive is spite. It comforts me to know that perhaps one day, another will read my story. Someone at the crossroads of their own life. Someone with an impossible choice. If you are holding this tome, my life, than it must be you. Good luck.'_

Selene turned the page to find it blank.

"That can't be it," she mumbled in disbelief. "There must be more…that can't be the end." She turned the book over, nearly flinging it in rage. But she didn't. _Nettles has always been one of my favorites, and here I have her last words, her last glimpse of life._ She brought to book close.

Selene was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Daenerys' herald, the little girl.

"The queen will see you now," the dark skinned girl said politely.

Selene placed the book gently on the desk. "What is your name?"

"This is one is called Missandei."

Selene smiled, "Thank you, Missandei."

The young girl gave her a scrutinizing look. Selene smiled. _This one is smarter than she seems._

Selene followed the little scribe through a stone hallways, and realized they were climbing up, not down.

She decided to pass the time, "Why did you leave your homeland?"

Missandei gave her a sharp look. When she realized Selene was serious, she answered, "I was stolen by slavers."

"I'm sorry. That must have been hard."

The girl was quiet...and then, "You were stolen, too."

Selene laughed, "Gods, you're right. So much has happened since then."

Missandei seemed surprised by her laughter. "You find it amusing?"

"I find life amusing," Selene answered. "If I may, how did a slave girl come to advise Daenerys Targaryen?"

The girl smiled, "She bought me from my masters and set me free."

"That was kind of her. Of course, you serve her now."

"I serve my queen because I want to serve my queen," she said shortly. "Because I believe in her."

"And if you wanted to go home?"

"Then she would give me a ship and wish me good fortune."

Selene raised a brow. This did not sound like the queen who nearly fed her to dragons, "You believe that?"

"I know it. Those of us who serve her, we believe in her. She's not our queen because she's the daughter of some king we never knew. She's the queen we chose."

"That all sounds well and good," Selene said skeptically, "but her family name certainly helps."

The girl shrugged. "Not to me," she said before she opened the door to Daenerys' chambers.

The lofty apex of the pyramid was surrounded by large balconies covered in greenery and fragrant pools. A low brick wall surrounded the balcony, and Selene was tempted to look out over the city of Meereen, but was jarred by Daenerys sitting at a round table near the window.

Daenerys gave her a wary look before standing, "Cousin."

Selene raised a brow, "I'm cousin today, am I? A few weeks ago I was dragonfeed."

Daenerys sighed, "You are as bad as your uncle. Do you ever think before you speak?"

"I used to," Selene admitted as she walked toward the green on the balcony. Daenerys watched and followed as Selene went to stand under the sky. "I used to be the perfect princess…when I had to be. I would be perfect when I wanted something, and not for a single second more than necessary."

"That was supposed to be me," the dragon queen said. When Selene gave her a confused looked, Daenerys continued, "I was supposed to be the proper princess. I was supposed to be raised in the Red Keep with the royal family…my family..." As she spoke, Selene saw that she was upsetting herself. "If not for your father."

_She has no idea,_ Selene thought sadly. _She needs to know._

"No, Daenerys. If not for your father."

Daenerys scoffed.

"Someone needs to tell you about the Mad King."

"The Mad King? You want to remind me of my enemies' lies? Consider me reminded." She went to walk away, but Selene reached out and grabbed her by the arm.

"Listen to me," Selene urged. "Ask Ser Barristan if you do not believe me. Your enemies did not lie."

Daenerys pulled her arm back, but did not move, "Go on."

Selene thought of every horrible story she ever heard from Jaime. "When the people rose in revolt against him, your father sent their towns and castles aflame. He murdered fathers in front of their sons. He burnt men alive with wildfire and laughed as they screamed. His efforts to stamp out dissent led to a rebellion that destroyed your House."

Daenerys swallowed, "I don't-"

"I am no maester to quote history at you, but every child knows that the Targaryens have always danced too close to madness. Your father was not the first. King Jaehaerys once told Selmy that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a Targaryen is born, he said, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land."

Daenerys shook her head, "The Usuper-"

"My father was many things," Selene said. "At his best brave, merciful, and just. At his worst headstrong, proud, and a drunkard…but if there is one thing in his life that he did right, it was rising up against your father." She looked away, "The best thing he ever did."

"That's my father you're talking about."

Selene looked back up, "For all your talk of freedom and justice… What do you expect the people to do when their ruler is a madman? You expect loyalty? Even to monsters?"

Daenerys looked away.

"Don't act like you would have done any different," Selene said softly.

"Excuse me?"

Selene walked to the brick wall and gently placed her hands on it. Daenerys soon joined her side, watching her, but Selene was staring out at the city. "If you, Daenerys Targaryen, were born in one of the smaller pyramids, and the King of Meereen burned your father alive while your older brother was forced to watch…if the crown prince kidnapped your betrothed…would you be a faithful subject?"

Daenerys was quiet. Selene watched as the dragon queen gazed over her city.

"What do you want?" she finally asked.

Selene smiled, "What I've always wanted. Justice. And peace."

"And the throne?"

Selene smirked, "I used to think the throne was how I would achieve those things. Now...I'm not so sure. I've seen what power does to people. Now I would count myself fortunate to live in peace with those I love."

"Do you believe in prophecy?"

Selene looked out over Meereen, "I once put my faith in prophecy. I was told my great love and I would endure the wars to come, that my wolf and I would rule for decades, and I would have six children." Selene looked at Daenerys, "Do you know what happened?"

Daenerys shook her head.

"My husband was murdered in front of me, my son killed in my womb, and I was eventually sold into slavery."

They stared at each other a moment, and then a laugh burst from Selene's lips. She brought her knuckles to her mouth, trying to suppress her laughter. It was all too absurd. Daenerys was shocked, but Selene saw the corner of her lip curve up. Soon they were both laughing.

"You're mad," Daenerys laughed.

"Well, life has a way of doing that to you." Selene wiped at her eyes, "Why? Do you believe in prophecies?"

"I don't know…" Daenerys shook her head. "I was told my son would be the stallion who mounts the world, but he-" she looked away.

Selene frowned. _How could our lives be so different and yet so similar?_ A sentence hung in the air, a sentence neither of them was comfortable enough to say to the other, but it was there all the same. Despite their differences, their experience, the bloodshed and war and rivalry that divided them, from one robbed mother to another…

_I'm sorry._

"I was told many prophecies in Qarth."

Selene nodded, "A mummer's dragon?" _I wonder how Aegon is faring._

"Indeed, but I was also warned about you."

"Me?"

"Well, I didn't realize it at the time, but yes. _Soon comes the pale mare and after her the others. Lion and griffin, the sun's son, the mummer's dragon, and a silver doe with a large, winged shadow roaring amidst them all._ " The way she recited the prophecy sent a shiver up Selene's spine. "Some have become apparent, others less so, but-"

"You think I'm the doe?"

"Who else could be?"

Selene thought for a moment…and came up with nothing, "That prophecy sounds like a warning."

"The dragon has three heads," Daenerys mumbled to herself.

"What?"

Her lilac eyes flicked up. "The dragon has three heads," she repeated, louder.

"Of course. Now I understand," Selene said dryly. "You know, repeating something does not make it any clearer."

Daenerys scowled, "Gods, you are insufferable."

Selene nearly laughed, "I know. Now...what are you talking about?"

Daenerys turned to face Meereen. Selene watched as a lazy wind caressed her silvery gold curls. "One bright, one hidden, one lost. One in the light, one in the dark, and one in-between. Stormborn, Bloodborn, and Warborn."

Selene waited for Daenerys to stop speaking in riddles, "I have three dragons, but no other riders."

"And you think I'm one of them?"

"Tyrion thinks so," she answered, "but prophecies are all guesswork and trickery. I know what I saw in that pit. Rhaegal refused my commands."

"Was that the first time?" Selene asked, feeling foolish as soon as the words left her lips. _Of course she won't answer that. It's too personal._

Much to Selene's surprise, Daenerys said, "The first time Rhaegal ever disobeyed, yes. But my dragons have been growing wilder and-" she looked away, ashamed, "I had them locked up after Drogon killed a young girl. He escaped."

"You can't control them?" It was ludicrous. This was the dragon queen, and the entire world was whispering in fear of her dragons. And yet, here she was, unable to control them. _Maybe I can control Rhaegal. Maybe if I use Nettles techniques…_

"It's not like I have a guide," Daenerys argued. "I'm their mother, but I don't have the knowledge of my ancestors to guide me."

_I could show her the book,_ Selene thought, but the words would not come. _I don't trust her yet. Maybe I should be thanking the gods this girl can't control those dragons._

Daenerys cleared her throat, "Would-" she looked down, took a breath, then met Selene's eyes, "would you ever serve me?"

Selene studied the dragon queen. _Could I? This Targaryen girl could take me home. Could unite me with Tommen and Myrcella._

"If you swear to keep my siblings safe, to grant me my rightful seat...perhaps. Only when I can trust you. If I'm being honest, trying to feed me to your dragons wasn't the best of starts."

Daenerys nearly smiled, "You forget yourself. I have to trust you, too."

_Could we ever do it?_ Selene wondered, staring at the dragon queen. _It will take time, but...well, what do I have to lose?_

Selene extended her hand for a shake. Daenery looked at it curiously, pausing.

The dragon queen gripped her hand and shook.


	50. For the Watch

Spears were harder to fight with than swords.

You wouldn't think so if you saw how gracefully Grey Worm moved. You _would_ think so if you saw how gracelessly Selene moved.

Selene let out a grunt as she fell hard after Grey Worm swept her legs out from under her with his spear.

She blew a stray curl out of her eyes. "That one hurt."

"Stay down," Grey Worm advised. His Common Tongue could have used some work, but it was far better than Selene's own High Valyrian.

Legs wobbling, Selene stood. "Where is the fun in that?" she asked, taking a defensive stance.

Grey Worm sighed, and came at her again.

He was quite busy as the leader of Daenerys' Unsullied, but found a spare hour here and there to show Selene how to wield a spear, simply because she had asked. She once boasted that the sword was the finest weapon in the world. Grey Worm had disagreed, arguing that the length of his spear was sure to change her mind. After Selene's attempt at a bawdy joke went over his head, Grey Worm demonstrated his prowess and soundly proved his point. They had gotten into the habit of training, and Selene was finding the spear a difficult challenge.

It wasn't the only difficult challenge. She and Aegon were learning Meereenese from Haldon, but Selene was never truly gifted with languages. When Haldon wasn't teaching Aegon and Selene, he was teaching Daenerys. She had never had a maester to teach her histories or a septa to teach her the mysteries of the seven, and now she had both. Haldon and Septa Lemore were only too happy to teach the dragon queen, and Daenerys was thrilled to be receiving a Westerosi education. It seemed the only person who wasn't happy was Aegon.

The princeling was having a difficult time adjusting. He had spent his entire life waiting for his chance to rule, and now he was simply waiting. Daenerys was married, and saw no reason to hurry to the Seven Kingdoms. She wasn't going to leave Slaver's Bay until she knew for certain that the people she had freed would not slide back into chains. _She has put the slaves before herself._

Selene was roused from her thoughts when she landed a satisfying _thwack_ on Grey Worm's arm.

A wide smile broke on her face.

Grey Worm look startled. "Luck."

Selene laughed, "Not luck. _Skill._ I may even surpass you one day, Grey-" she was soundly interrupted by the butt of the spear sinking into her gut. She fell to one knee, the wind knocked out of her. Grey Worm looked proud of himself.

"Worth it," she wheezed.

"Selene," Tyrion called. "We have a meeting."

She nodded, but gave Grey Worm a bow of respect. "Until next time." The first time she had bowed, the eunuch had protested. He did not deserve it, or so he said, and so Selene made a point to bow every time.

She followed Tyrion to Daenerys' war council. _Another death?_ she wondered. A group called the Sons of the Harpy was wreaking havoc on Meereen's people.

Selene had been shocked when Daenerys first invited her to a council meeting, but she supposed they had to start their tentative truce somewhere. It would be a sharp learning curve for them both. Selene could see how Daenerys ruled, and the dragon queen could listen and weigh the value of Selene's council.

Selene was the last to arrive at the table. She sat with a nod to the others: Missandei, the sellsword Daario Naharis, Ser Barristan, Hizdar zo Loraq, Tyrion and Aegon.

"Good of you to join us," Daenerys said. "You're covered in bruises."

Selene glanced at her reflection in the polished table. At first, the Meereenese sun had burned her skin, but after some weeks she was beginning to brown instead of burn. She wore light training clothes: a white tunic over soft brown trousers with a woven belt. Her hair was in a short braid behind her, but a few tendrils had escaped, framing her face. But Daenerys was referring to her disheveled state.

"Don't forget dirt and blood," Selene answered cheerfully. "Please, continue."

Mossador, the man who spoke for the freed slaves, cleared his throat, "Sons of the Harpy…they want to put a collar back on my neck, on all of our necks. Please Your Grace, you must kill him."

"We have one in custody?" Selene asked.

Daenerys nodded. "It would send a message," she reasoned, looking to her counsel for their opinion.

Ser Barristan spoke, "I think you should exercise restraint, Your Grace." Something about his address pricked at Selene.

"Why?"

"For one thing, he may have valuable information."

"The son of the harpy has no more valuable information," said Daario.

"How do you know that?" Ser Barristan countered.

"Because I questioned him." Daario's smile revealed his golden tooth and sent a shiver down Selene's spine. The ruthless sellsword was the captain of the Stormcrows, one of the sellsword companies sworn in service to the dragon queen. Daario had a beard cut in three prongs, all dyed blue. His eyes were blue as well, but his mustachio was painted gold. He was lithe, smooth skinned and, Selene hated to admit, handsome. But there was a recklessness and cruelty to his nature that made her averse.

"And the information that you did get," said Hizdar. "He is young and poor…"

"He was born free," Mossador argued.

"Why would he want to bring back slavery? What did it do for him?"

"Even the poorest free man is above a slave," said Selene.

Daenerys nodded, adding, "Perhaps the only thing that gave him pride was knowing that there was someone lower than he was."

"They pay him," said Mossador. "Great families afraid to do a thing. They pay poor men to do it for them."

"And how do you know this?" asked Hizdar.

"Everyone know this."

"I don't know it! And I'm the head of a great family."

"We do not know what this man did or did not do," Tyrion clarified. "He needs a trial. A fair trial."

Selene nodded at Tyrion, "I agree with my uncle. We may be far from Westeros, but justice is justice. You can't execute someone without a trial."

Ser Barristan agreed, "Show the people of Meereen that you are better than those who would oppose you. Teach them a better way."

"I do not know the place from where little man, young girl, or old ser comes," said Mossador. "Things maybe are different there, I hope. But here, in Meereen, before Daenerys Stormborn they own us. So we learn much about them, or we do not live long. They teach me what they are. Mercy, fair trial…these mean _nothing_ to them. All they understand is blood."

Daenerys glanced around the table, when her eyes fell on Aegon, he said, "Tyrion has the right of it. A trial."

"Thank you all for your counsel," Daenerys said, dismissing them all.

Selene went to leave, but Ser Barristan followed her. "Selene, a word?"

She did not turn. "I need to feed Rhaegal."

"May I accompany you?"

"I can't stop you."

The servant's steps were the quickest way down – not grand, but steep and straight and narrow, hidden in the walls. Ser Barristan grabbed a lantern, lest they fall. Bricks of twenty different colors pressed close around them, fading to grey and black beyond the lantern light. Thrice they passed Unsullied guards, standing as if they had been carved from stone. The only sound was the soft scuff of their feet upon the steps.

At ground level the Great Pyramid of Meereen was a hushed place, full of dust and shadows. Its outer walls were thirty feet thick. Within them, sounds echoed off arches of many-colored bricks. They passed beneath three massive arches, down a torchlit ramp into the vaults beneath the pyramid, past cisterns, dungeons, and torture chambers where slaves had been scourged and skinned and burned with red-hot irons. Finally they came to a pair of huge iron doors with rusted hinges, guarded by the Unsullied.

When she was first here, she thought she would die. Now, Selene had the guards open the door voluntarily. Selene Baratheon stepped into the hot heart of darkness and saw four eyes burning through the shadows – two of molten gold and two of bronze.

Ser Barristan took her by the arm, "No closer."

"They won't harm me." _I hope._

"But-"

Selene jerked her arm away, and Selmy held his tongue.

When Viserion roared, a gout of yellow flamed turned darkness into day for half a heartbeat. The fire licked along the walls, and Selene felt the heat upon her face, like the blast from an oven. Across the pit, Rhaegal's wings unfolded, stirring the stale air. He tried to fly, but the chains snapped taunt as he rose and slammed him down unto his belly. He roared in protest before walking toward her, instead. Links as big as a man's fist bound their feet to the floor, and the iron collar about his neck was fastened to the wall behind him. Viserion wore matching chains. In the light of Selmy's lantern, his scales gleamed like ivory. Smoke rose from between his teeth. Bones were scattered on the floor at his feet, cracked and scorched and splintered. The air was uncomfortably hot and smelled of sulfur and charred meat.

"They grow larger every day," Selene's voice echoed off the scorched stone walls. A drop of sweat trickled down her brow and fell onto her breast.

The Great Masters had used the pit as a prison. It was large enough to hold five hundred men...and more than ample for two dragons. _For how long, though? What will happen when they grow too large for the pit? Will they turn on one another with flame and claw? Will they grow weak with withered flanks and shrunken wings? Will their fires go out before the end?_

_What sort of mother lets her children rot in darkness?_

Selene shook those thoughts from her head. _Daenerys can't control them. They're too wild. Drogon killed a little girl._

Selene pushed those thoughts from her head as she dragged the dead ram by its horns.

The Unsullied guards were instructed to leave one ram carcass by the door a day, and so Selene struggled to pull it closer to the dragons. _I'm like Nettles,_ she thought with a smile as she heaved.

Nettles was dark of skin and eye, and had no idea who her parents were. Even as she rode her dragon, Sheepstealer, men whispered she had not a drop of dragon's blood. But she _had_ fed the wild Sheepstealer a lamb a day for months, and eventually the dragon became familiar enough to trust her. Selene could only hope that the same would work for her. _I already have a connection with Rhaegal, but I need more than him refusing to kill me._

Rhaegal's claws scrabbled stone, and the huge chains rattled as he made his way to her. When his chain grew taunt, he gave a roar, twisted his head back as far as he was able, and spat bronze flames at the wall behind him.

"Relax, I'm nearly there." Selene had grown used to speaking with the dragons as she had with Eleni. With one final heave, she slid the carcass as close as possible. She had just enough time to dart away before Rhaegal unleashed a stream of flames, cooking the dead ram in seconds. They tore into the flesh with their black teeth.

Selene watched as they ate. They seemed to pay her no mind. _Good, that's good._

Ser Barristan cleared his throat, "You're upset with me."

Selene grimaced, "What gave you that idea?"

"You jumped into my arms when I rescued you from that pit, and now you hardly look at me. Why?"

Selene stared at the dragons as they ate. "I can't bear it."

Ser Barristan frowned, "If this is because I serve Daenerys now…"

"Of course it is, Selmy." Selene rounded on him, furious tears rising unbidden to her eyes. She turned her back to the dragons and began to walk toward Ser Barristan. _I will not cry._ "You were _my_ sworn shield. The Lord Commander of _my_ Queensguard. _My_ white knight. And you abandoned me!"

Ser Barristan's eyes locked on something just over her shoulder. "Selene-"

"I have to watch as you call Daenerys _Her Grace,_ yet that's-" her throat clenched. _That's what you used to call me._ She felt the familiar tug in her chest. _My father's famous fury._ "I've loved you like family, Barristan, _my entire life!"_

A deafening roar came from behind her.

"Selene!" Selmy yelled.

She turned sharply. Rhaegal had abandoned his meal and was right behind her. His murderous gaze was on Selmy, and his jaws were opening. Selene watched in horror as flames began to flicker in the back of his throat.

"No!" she cried, lunging in front of Barristan and spreading her arms wide.

Rhaegal closed his jaws with a puff of confusion.

"No," Selene commanded.

Rhaegal rumbled, and turned back to his meal.

It was then Selene let out a breath of relief. "Maybe this conversation is better held in private."

Ser Barristan was white as chalk. "Rhaegal felt your rage."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I know what I saw," he argued. "The moment you raised your voice, Rhaegal turned his head. As you kept speaking, he got closer, and he-"

"-nearly killed you," Selene finished. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault, child. If anything, I should be thanking you."

Selene was lost, "For nearly getting you devoured by a dragon?"

Ser Barristan chuckled, "No. For saving my life. I'm only here today because you asked me to check on the stormlanders at the Twins."

Selene stared at him in disbelief, "You remember?"

"I couldn't forget it if I tried," Ser Barristan said gravely. "I was there in the camps when the fighting broke out. Allies murdering each other over shared campfires. It was madness. I fought for as long as I could, but once I saw your lifeless body thrown in that cage..." his eyes grew wet "…all the fight left me. I didn't just mourn you as my queen, I mourned the babe that had been placed in my arms. The small child I had vowed to protect. The brave little girl who refused to be put aside."

Selene couldn't take it anymore. She flung herself into his arms as tears fell freely down her face. His words, his familiar smell, the teardrops she felt on her hair…they were enough to make her weep. Ser Barristan returned her embrace.

"I've never had children-"

"You don't have to say it."

"I do." He shifted so he gripped her shoulders, looking her in the eyes, "I love you as if you were my own."

Selene smiled, wiping at her face, "You have always been family to me, my white knight."

Ser Barristan returned her smile, and said, "The reason I found Daenerys was because I thought you were lost to me. I left Westeros to find the only other person worthy of my service."

"The Mad King's _daughter?_ "

"No. Prince Rhaegar's sister."

Selene frowned, "I don't understand."

"I hear you've told Daenerys the truth about her father."

Selene stood a little straighter, "Yes, I have."

"Good. Someone needed to, but now you must know the truth about her brother."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Selene," Barristan looked it "but your father lied about Rhaegar Targaryen."

Selene shook her head, "I don't understand."

"Rhaegar was well-loved by the people of the Seven Kingdoms, though no one would dare say that to a child of Robert Baratheon. Rhaegar was intelligent, determined and dutiful. He loved his silver-stringed harp more than his sword, and-"

" _Enough,_ " Selene snapped. "This can't be true."

"You begged Daenerys to listen, now I beg the same. Why would I lie to you?"

"But Rhaegar…he _kidnapped_ Lyanna Stark. He forced my father to start his rebellion." Selene made a move toward the staircase, away from the darkness of the cavern and the past.

"Rhaegar made mistakes-"

Selene turned, " _Mistakes?_ Kidnap and rape are not-"

"Rhaegar's mistake wasn't abduction," Ser Barristan explained. "His mistake was putting his heart before his duty."

Selene was growing more confused. She waited for Ser Barristan to continue.

Selmy looked away, "He put aside his lawful wife…his children…for her. For Lyanna."

"What?" Selene breathed.

Ser Barristan's eyes were sad, "I will not pretend to know what was in Lady Lyanna's heart, but I know this. Prince Rhaegar loved his Lady Lyanna and thousands died for it."

Selene felt like the walls of the pit were closing in around her. "That can't be true."

"Your father's hatred of Rhaegar began long before Lyanna. When Rhaegar was of marrying age, King Aerys sent his cousin, your grandfather, Lord Steffon Baratheon to the Free Cities to find a suitable wife for Rhaegar. Your grandparents came back empty handed, but died in a storm on Shipbreaker's Bay, within sight of Storm's End. Your father and Lord Stannis watched as their parents died."

"I knew they died in a shipwreck," Selene said, "but I didn't know it was for Rhaegar's sake."

"Though it was a terrible accident, your father could not stop himself from blaming Rhaegar. When Lyanna left, it was the final straw, and Robert began his rebellion."

"Left?" Selene was stuck on that word. "You don't mean to suggest…you think Lady Lyanna _ran away_ with Rhaegar?"

"I'm sorry."

Selene ran.

Barristan called after her, but she didn't stop. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, up the countless steps, until she reached a courtyard. _I feel dizzy._

Aegon saw her, "I need to speak with you."

"Not now, Aegon." It was all Selene could do not to retch.

He carried on as if she hadn't spoken, "I need to see the dragons. I know they'll respond to me. One of them is named after my own _father,_ and yet Daenerys refuses to let me meet them."

"Please don't speak of your father."

Aegon took a second look at her, "Are you alright?"

"No," Selene took deep breaths. "Aegon, how would you feel if your entire life was a lie?"

Aegon crossed his arms, "If you're suggesting that I'm not my father's son, then I-"

Missandei found them, "My lady, my lord." The scribe always addressed them that way, though what Selene was the lady of, she had no idea. "There are Westerosi in the throne room. Daario Naharis brought them from his company to meet Her Grace."

Selene and Aegon glanced at each other before following Missandei. Selene welcomed any distraction. _Anything to keep my mind from what Barristan told me._ It would also be glorious to hear the Common Tongue from someone new.

They entered the throne room from the side, walking onto the steps and looking down at the Westerosi that Daario was introducing to Daenerys. They seemed a scruffy bunch, but that was to be expected of sellswords. The youngest could not have been more than a year older than her, the oldest must have seen sixty namedays. A few sported signs of wealth, gold arm rings, silken tunics, silver-studded sword belts… _Plunder._ For the most part, their clothes were plainly made and showed signs of hard wear. _My people,_ Selene thought with a smile. She looked toward Daenerys, and wondered if she felt the same.

Daario was introducing what looked to be Dornishmen. _I wonder if they know that their Prince Oberyn conspired to make me a Martell._

Selene exchanged a knowing glance with Tyrion, who stood beside Daenerys.

"If it pleases Your Grace," said Daario, "these three are Greenguts, Gerrold, and Frog."

Greenguts was huge and bald as stone, with thick arms. Gerrold was a lean, tall youth with sun streaks in his hair and laughing blue-green eyes. _That smile has won many a maiden's heart, I'll wager._

Frog, the squire, was the youngest of the three, and the least impressive, a solemn, stocky lad, brown of hair and eye. His face was squarish, with a high forehead, heavy jaw, and broad nose. The stubble on his cheeks and chin made him look like a boy trying to grow his first beard. Selene had no idea why they called him Frog. _Perhaps he can jump farther than the others._

"You may rise," Daenerys said. "Daario tells me you come to us from Dorne. Dornishmen will always be welcome at my court. Sunspear stayed loyal to my father when the Usu-" Daenerys eyed Selene before clearing her throat, "when Robert Baratheon rebelled."

Selene stared at Daenerys in surprise. She couldn't stop the appreciative smile that rose to her lips. _If Daenerys can come to terms with the truth, perhaps I should do the same._

Daenerys continued, "You must have faced many perils to reach me."

"Too many," said Gerrold, the handsome one with sun streaked hair. "We were six when we left Dorne, Your Grace."

"I am sorry for your losses," The dragon queen said.

Tyrion turned to the large one, "Greenguts is a strange sort of name."

"A jape, my lord. From the ships. I was greensick the whole way from Volantis. Heaving and…well, I shouldn't say."

Daenerys giggled, "I think I can guess, ser. It is _ser,_ is it not? Daario tells me that you are a knight."

"If it pleases Your Grace, we are all three knights."

Selene glanced at Daario and saw anger flash across his face. _He did not know._

"I have need of knights," Daenerys said.

Selene stepped forward. The Dornishmen saw her for the first time. She noted the look of confusion at her appearance. _I really should wash up before meetings._

"Knighthood is easily claimed this far from Westeros," Selene said. "Are you prepared to defend that boast with sword or lance?"

"If need be," said Gerrold, "though I will not claim that any of us is the equal of Winter's Fury. "

Selene was taken aback. _Who are they?_

Gerrold turned to Daenerys, "Your Grace, I beg your pardon, but we have come before you under false names."

"You would not be the first," said Daenerys. "Tell me your true names, then."

"Gladly…but if we may beg the queen's indulgence, is there some place with fewer eyes and ears?"

_Games within games._

"As you wish."

The rest of the Westerois left, as well as some of the day's petitioners. Only Daenerys and the council remained.

"Now," said Daenerys, "your names."

Handsome young Gerrold bowed, "Ser Gerris Drinkwater, Your Grace. My sword is yours."

Greenguts crossed his arms against his chest, "And my warhammer. I'm Ser Archibald Yronwood."

_Yronwood? The most powerful house in Dorne, after…_ "And you, ser?" Selene asked Frog, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"If it pleases Her Grace, I would like to present my gift."

"As you wish," Daenerys said curiously, but as Frog started forward, Daario got in his way.

"Give the gift to me."

Stone-faced, the stocky lad bent, unlaced his boot, and drew a yellow parchment from a hidden flap within.

"This is your gift? A scrap of writing?" Daario snatched the parchment out of the Dornishman's hands and unrolled it, squinting at the seals and signatures. "Very pretty, all the gold and ribbons, but I do not read your Westerosi scratchings."

Selene was quickly growing tired of Daario. "Give it to Daenerys," she commanded. "Now."

Daenerys felt the anger in the hall. "Give it here, Daario," she said lightly.

"It's a secret pact," Daenerys said, "made in Braavos when I was just a little girl. Ser Williem Darry signed for us, the man who spirited my brother and I away. Prince Oberyn signed for Dorne, with the Sealord of Braavos as witness."

Selene walked up the steps to the throne so Daenerys could hand her the parchment to read.

"The alliance is to be sealed with a marriage, it says. In return for Dorne's help overthrowing Robert Baratheon, my brother Viserys is to take Prince Doran's daughter Arianne for his queen."

Selene read the pact slowly. "If my father had known of this, he would have smashed Sunspear as he did Pyke, and claimed the heads of Doran and Oberyn."

"No doubt that was why Prince Doran chose to keep the pact a secret," suggested Daenerys. "If my brother knew a Dornish princess awaited him, we would have crossed the Narrow Sea as soon as he was of an age to be wed."

"And thereby brought Robert's warhammer down upon himself and Dorne," said Frog. "My father was content to wait for the day Viserys found his army."

Selene turned, "Your father?"

"Prince Doran." He sank to one knee, "Your Grace, I have the honor to be Quentyn Martell, a prince of Dorne and your most leal subject."

Daenerys laughed.

The Dornish prince flushed red, while Selene gave Daenerys an incredulous look.

"What is so funny?" Selene hissed.

"They call him _frog._ Like an enchanted prince."

Selene fought a smile, "Alright, that's a little funny."

Daenerys turned back to Quentyn, "Tell me, my prince, are you enchanted?"

"No, Your Grace."

"I feared as much. You mean to marry me. Is that the way of it? The gift you bring me is your own sweet self. Instead of Viserys and your sister, you and I must seal this pact if I want Dorne."

"My father hoped that you might find me acceptable."

Daario Naharis gave a scornful laugh, "I say you are a pup. The queen needs a man beside her, not a mewling boy. You are no fit husband for a woman such as her. When you lick your lips, do you still taste your mother's milk?"

Ser Gerris Drinkwater darkened at his words. "Mind your tongue, sellsword. You are speaking to a prince of Dorne."

"And to his wet nurse, I am thinking." Daario brushed his thumbs across his sword hilts and smiled dangerously.

"These are my countrymen, Naharis," Selene said heatedly. "You will show them respect."

Daario scowled at her.

"Dorne is fifty thousand spears and swords, pledged to our queen's service," offered Quentyn.

"Fifty thousand?" mocked Daario. "I count three."

" _Enough_ ," Daenerys said. "Prince Quentyn has crossed half the world to offer me his gift, I will not have him treated with discourtesy." She turned to the Dornishmen. "Would that you had come a year ago. I am wed to the noble Hizdar zo Loraq."

Prince Quentyn paled, "But-"

"Missandei," Daenerys interrupted, "see that the prince and his companions are given quarters suitable to their high birth, and that their wants are attended to."

"As you wish, Your Grace."

Daenerys rose, "Then we are done for now."

Selene, Aegon, Tyrion, and Daario followed her up the steps to her apartments.

"This changes everything," Tyrion said.

"This changes nothing," Daario said. "What good are three men?"

"Three knights," Aegon pointed out.

"Three liars," Daario said darkly. "They deceived me."

Daenerys was studying the parchment. "Selene, what are the arms of House Martell?"

"A sun in splendor, transfixed by a spear."

"The sun's son." Daenerys shuddered. "Dreams and prophecies.

"You should execute them for their deceit," Daario urged.

"Are you mad?" Selene argued. "They had to lie or they would have never made it this far."

"Am _I_ mad?" Daario spat. "Who are you? The daughter of my queen's enemy. How dare you insult me? _You…_ "

"Daario, enough," Daenerys warned.

He rounded on her, "She doesn't show you any of the respect you deserve as queen. You have her at your table, yet she refuses to acknowledge you."

Daenerys looked at them all. "Leave me."

Tyrion, Daario and Aegon bowed before turning.

Selene was leaving too, when Daenerys said, "Not you, Selene." Her eyes went to Selene's dirty clothes, "You're filthy."

"I haven't had a chance to clean up," Selene admitted. "I mean no offense."

Daenerys smirked, "I'm not sure I believe you." She called her maids in.

Selene clothes were lifted off, and she slipped into a warm bath. Selene sighed in relief, resting her elbows on the rim of the tub. She nearly melted when she felt deft fingers comb through her hair.

"Oh, I've missed this," Selene said wistfully.

Daenerys sat on the cushioned chair beside the tub with a goblet of wine.

When a goblet was put in Selene's hand, she turned and smiled at the maid, "Thank you."

Daenerys was eyeing her bruises, where Grey Worm's blows had landed, "Why do you fight?"

"It's great fun."

When Daenerys' look did not waver, Selene swallowed, her smile fading, "At first, it was because no one asked if I wanted to. The more people told me I could not, the more it became my heart's only desire. I just…wanted to make my father proud."

"Was he?"

"I think so." Selene gave her a half-smile. "In his own way."

"Would he be proud of you now?"

Selene sipped her wine, "If I killed you, yes."

"And if you served me?"

Selene looked away, "He would never forgive me."

Daenerys frowned, "Why did your father hate my family?"

Selene blinked, "Why do you think he rose against your father?"

"Viserys told me Robert Baratheon wanted the crown, and rose against his rightful king to steal it." She shook her head, "But now I'm not sure what's true anymore."

Selene thought about what Ser Barristan's words. "Me neither."

"I know some truths." Daenerys smiled, "I know that you are insufferable."

"And you take yourself too seriously," Selene countered.

Daenerys blinked. Selene fought to suppress a smile. Soon, Daenerys was laughing, "Perhaps I do. Not always."

"Not with Daario, at least."

Daenerys blushed, "I have no idea what-"

Selene laughed, "Come now. It's obvious when you look at him, and I can hear it in your voice when you speak of him. And he's clearly taken with you." Selene leaned her head back on the tub and closed her eyes, "Many are, I expect."

"I am married."

"That means nothing."

When Daenerys fell quiet, Selene rolled her eyes, "Only the gods know what you see in Daario."

Daenerys sat up straighter, "He is daring, bold-"

"He has a sellsword's conscious, that is to say, none at all."

Daenerys raised a brow, "Are you suggesting you've never lain with anyone beside your husband?"

"Never."

"Don't you miss it?"

"Sometimes." Selene thought of Illyio's bedslave in Pentos, and Aegon on the Shy Maid. "Opportunities presented themselves, but something always held me back."

"Your love for your husband?"

"I've only known the touch of a man who loved me," Selene told the dragon queen. "How can anyone else compare?"

Daenerys looked thoughtful, "I loved my first husband, too."

Selene smiled incredulously, "The Dothraki warlord?" Under Daenerys' harsh look, Selene bit her lip, "I would sometimes eavesdrop on my father's war councils."

Daenerys' lips pressed together, but she continued, "Drogo was my sun-and-stars. He made a queen of me, when before I had been a frightened girl."

Selene had no idea why, but it was easy to speak with Daenerys. Maybe because they had much in common. _Princesses, queens, wives, mothers,_ Selene thought… _It's too easy to confess to each other._

"Robb did quite the opposite. I had been born a princess and crowned a queen, but he made me feel so…loved. For who I was, not for how many men I could add to his army. He had the bluest eyes you'd ever seen, and hair that burned like fire in sunlight." Selene's smile dipped, "And he was butchered in front of me."

Daenerys' jaw flexed, "I burned the witch who took Drogo from me."

Selene nodded, "I plunged a dagger into my grandfather's throat, but there are two others I have yet to bring to justice." She leaned back in the tub, "I kill them in my sweetest dreams." _Of late, those dreams involve me decending on dragonback and setting their castles ablaze._

The water in the tub was beginning to cool. Selene shivered. Daenerys called for her maids again, and a soft robe was wrapped around Selene as she stood. Perhaps she should have been embarrassed, but her many months on the Sky Maid bathing with Lemore every morning had made her comfortable in her own skin.

Selene walked toward the fire and sat on the shaggy rug on the floor, her wine goblet still in hand. Daenerys joined her, her eyes falling to the moonstone that hung gently from Selene's neck.

"You always wear that jewel."

Selene smiled, "It's the moonstone from the crown my father gave me a long time ago. I couldn't bear to leave it behind in Westeros."

"It's very beautiful."

"Thank you." Perhaps it was the wine, or the warmth of the fire, or that they had shared so much already, but Selene leaned forward as if telling Daenerys a secret, "Another wears its twin."

Daenerys looked at her incredulously, "A man?"

Selene's smile widened, "He was a boy when I gave it to him."

Daenerys looked intrigued, "Go on, then."

She sipped the wine before saying, "He was a bastard and I was princess-"

"How romantic."

Selene laughed. "He was so…good. And kind. He thought of everyone before himself." She looked into the flames, "He deserved better than what he got. He was-"

"Handsome?" Daenerys prompted.

" _Gods,_ yes." They laughed together. "His eyes would melt me. He wasn't quick to laugh or smile, but when he did…it was like staring full into the face of the sun."

They were quiet for a moment.

"What happened?"

"Honor."

Daenerys' smiled dipped, "Where is he now?"

Selene drank a mouthful of wine, "At the edge of the world, and of all things. In the arms of duty."

Daenerys looked down at her goblet, "You know Tyrion is making grand marriage plans, don't you?"

"I figured as much," Selene sighed. "He's always thinking ahead."

"Do you have any idea of what matches he intends to put before me?"

_He will do his best to make me happy, but Tyrion could never make the match he knows I truly want._ Selene shook her head, "I could only guess. The arrival of Quentyn changes things a bit, but… Why do you ask?"

"Because I want you to know that if I could, I would let you marry who you wanted to. I want you to know that I'm sorry for the way it is."

Selene's brows drew together, "Thank you. You don't have to apologize to me, though. I know all too well about the way it is. I was lucky the first time. Perhaps I will be again."

"Perhaps." Daenerys sipped her wine.

Selene felt a sharp pain at her throat. She gasped, her goblet clattering to the floor as her hand jerked to her neck.

Daenerys looked alarmed, "Selene?"

Selene looked down at her fingers, expecting blood, but there was nothing.

_For the Watch…_ someone whispered in her ear.

Selene shook her head, "What-" She screamed when she felt the knife in her gut.

Daenerys shouted for help, but Selene was lying on her side, shuddering in pain. One moment she was in Meereen, the next she was laying in snow and darkness. She looked up.

Jon was on his knees beside her. She saw the dagger's hilt in his belly and shrieked as he wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking.

_Not Jon,_ Selene thought weakly. _Anyone but Jon._

A brother in black stood before Jon, tears streaming down his face. "For the Watch."

"Ghost," Jon whispered. A wolf howled mournfully in the distance.

Pain washed over Selene as another dagger sank into Jon's chest. He gave a grunt and fell on his back into the snow. He looked to the side, right at Selene.

"Jon?" she breathed, feeling her lungs fill with blood. _Please see me. Just this once._

The snow reddened beneath him. The edges of Selene's vision were turning to black, but the ghost of a smile rose to Jon's lips.

"Selene."

The light left his eyes, and Selene was swallowed by darkness.


	51. Fire and Fury

Selene sucked in air as if she had woken from the dead.

She coughed violently as the Unsullied guard ran shouting and was still gasping for breath when Tyrion, Ser Barristan, and Daenerys entered the room.

"Selene?" Tyrion rushed forward.

She grasped at her throat, her breath starting to slow. Her fingers felt the slim silver chain where her moonstone hung.

Selene looked down at the stone, tears pooling in her eyes.

"What did you see?" Tyrion asked worriedly.

Selene ripped the chain from her neck and hurled it across the room with a shout. Her grief was heavy in her chest, and she was finding it hard to breathe. "He's…he's…"

She could not say it.

Tyrion seemed to know, "I'm so sorry."

"It doesn't make any sense," Selene managed. "All those years with the stones. That can't have been for nothing." Yet Selene knew what she saw. She bit her lip.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Daenerys said sadly. Selene looked at her for the first time since she entered the room. Daenerys continued, "Tyrion told us about the stones. What did you see?"

Selene looked out of the window. She made her way to the side of the bed, stood, and walked toward the balcony, staring out at Meereen. The fresh air felt cool on her face. Sorrow filled her heart. _I want to go home._

They waited for Selene to speak. "He was betrayed," she said finally. "Murdered by men he trusted." A few tears fell down her face, but Selene's voice was oddly calm, "I always thought I would see him again." She laughed bitterly, "l've lost _everything_. Over and over, but I thought…" Selene squeezed her eyes shut tight. " _Stupid_ girl."

"Selene," Ser Barristan said kindly, "this pain is part of being alive."

Suddenly it was all too much. She felt a familiar tug at her chest.

"THEN – I – DON'T – WANT – TO - BE – ALIVE!" Selene roared, and she seized a wooden stool and flung it across the room; its legs flew in different directions

"Selene," Tyrion tried.

"I DON'T CARE!" Selene yelled at them, snatching up a small wooden table and throwing it in the fireplace. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE-"

She grabbed whatever she could from the room and threw them, too. Countless things broke apart on the floor. The pyramid trembled as roars came from deep beneath the earth.

"You do care," said Tyrion. He had not flinched or made a move to stop Selene from destroying the room. His expression was calm, "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it."

"I – DON'T!" Selene screamed, so loudly that she felt her throat might tear, and for a second she wanted to rush at Tyrion and break him too; shatter that calm face, shake him, hurt him, make him feel some tiny part of the horror inside herself.

That thought snapped her out of it. Selene's chest was rising and falling sharply as she glanced around in shame at the carnage she had made of the furniture.

She turned her back on them and stood at the balcony.

Daenerys walked up to her, and stood by her side.

"I know how you feel."

Selene stayed silent.

"You're in pain. It can't be made better. Some things can't be mended. They can only be carried." With that, Daenerys turned and left the room.

Selene realized Tyrion and Barristan were still there. "I need to be alone," she said without turning.

She felt Tyrion's hesitation, "I'm not sure I should you leave you."

_He's thinking of King's Landing,_ Selene thought dully. _Of when he stopped me from-_

"I'll be alright, Uncle." She lifted her chin, looking up at the sky. "I need time."

"Swear to me."

"I swear on," Selene hesitated. She closed her eyes, her voice cracking. "On his grave."

Selene heard the door shut softly.

Sorrow began to make its way up her throat, her heart pounding hard. _It's hurts too much to care._

_If I look back I am lost._

Her grief felt different this time. For her father, it was righteous pride. She wanted to avenge him, to honor his memory and restore his blood to the throne. For Robb and her son, it was endless despair. She wanted her life to end, to join them wherever they were. But now… _it's rage. I want to burn, and take this wretched world with me._

Selene pushed her grief down. She wanted the pain to stop. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The muscles in her face relaxed, her shoulders dropped, and she felt her heart go dead.

_This is how you fight back,_ whispered a voice in her mind that sounded oddly like herself. _Take the salt from your tears and amass a raging ocean. Bind your cries into a sweeping hurricane. Those with the heaviest hearts plant their feet into the earth the strongest._

Selene straightened. _I am a storm, and this storm bends for nobody._

She opened her eyes.

_Some things can't be mended. They can only be carried._

She turned back to her chambers, threw on a wispy black dress that reminded her of Dornish attire, and went for a walk.

Selene had no idea where her feet were taking her. She simply walked. Up stairs, down stairs, through corridors and courtyards. She walked with no purpose, her mind blissfully blank. _I wish Eleni was here._

She realized where she needed to be.

It was on her way there that she stumbled upon the Dornishmen. They were whispering in an alcove and thought themselves alone.

"I cannot return to my father empty handed."

Selene froze, listening.

"Well, what else are we to do?" One of his companions said. _The bald one or the comely one?_ "The dragon queen is married."

" _Valar Morghulis_."

"Shut up, Drink," warned the prince.

"What? Is it treason to say that men are mortal?"

Quentyn sighed, "What are we to do? I cannot leave without her."

"What about Princess Selene?"

"I'm glad someone brought her up," said Drinkwater. "Last I heard she was imprisoned in the Red Keep under suspicion for murdering her brother. Her and the Imp. What in seven hells are they doing here?"

"It's a long story," Selene answered calmly.

The three young men nearly jumped out of their skins.

"P-Princess Selene." Quentyn gave her a respectful bow.

"Rise, my prince," Selene answered graciously. "You need not call me _princess._ I'm not wholly sure who I am anymore, but I am a princess no longer."

"You were _queen_ for a time, were you not?" said the comely one, Ser Gerris. Tall, fair, with blue-green eyes and a lean and comely body, Gerris Drinkwater had a swagger to him, a confidence bordering on arrogance. Under Selene's impassive look, however, he blushed in embarrassment. He attempted to make light of her silence with a joke, "Are you not warm, my lady? Dressed in black on such a hot day."

"I am in mourning."

Drinkwater's blush of embarrassment deepened.

Prince Quentyn looked genuinely saddened, "I'm sorry to hear it."

Selene nodded, "Thank you. Would you like to see the dragons, my prince?"

A flicker of doubt passed across the square face of Quentyn Martell. "If it would please my lady."

"It's a long way down. Are you sure you wish to do this?"

He nodded.

"Then come."

A pair of Unsullied went down the steps before them, bearing torches. Their small company made the long descent in silence, stopping thrice to refresh themselves along the way.

"Daenerys' marriage need not be the end of all your hopes," Selene said when they were on the final flight. "I know why you are here."

"For her," said Quentyn, all awkward gallantry.

"No," said Selene. "For fire and blood."

An answering roar from below made her flush with sudden heat. Prince Quentyn looked alarmed.

"Come," she took Prince Quentyn by the arm and led him into the darkness. "Remain outside, please," she told the Unsullied. She drew the Dornish prince inside with her.

The dragons turned their necks around, gazing at them with burning eyes. Viserion had shattered one chain and melted bits of others. He clung to the roof of the pit like some huge white bat, his claws dug deep into the burnt and crumbling bricks. Rhaegal, still chained, was gnawing on the carcass of a ram. The bones on the floor were deeper than the last time she had been there. _How long was I asleep?_ The walls and floors were black and grey, more ash than brick. They would not hold much longer.

The Dornish prince had gone as white as milk. "I…I had heard there were three."

"Drogon is hunting," Selene thought he didn't need to know the rest. "Daenerys named them after her brothers. The white one is Viserion, the green is Rhaegal."

"After the brother your father killed," Quentyn said softly.

"Precisely." She looked out at the dragons, "No one can say the gods are without humor."

Rhaegal roared in answer, and fire filled the pit, a spear of red and yellow.

Selene looked at Rhaegal in wonder. "In truth, I wonder if this is the work of the gods."

Quentyn frowned, "What do you mean?"

"I have a bond with Rhaegal, you see, yet my father killed his namesake. Perhaps Rhaegal and I are meant to heal the wound caused by Rhaegar and Robert all those years ago."

Viserion replied, his own flames gold and orange. When he flapped his wings, a cloud of grey ash filled the air. Broken chains clanked and clattered about his legs. Quentyn Martell jumped back a foot. _How can he be the nephew of the Red Viper?_

A crueler woman might have laughed at him, but Selene squeezed his hand and said, "They frighten me as well. There is no shame in that. They have grown wild and angry in the dark.

"Daenerys means to ride them?"

"One of them. All I know of dragons is what I've read in books, but even Aegon the Conqueror never dared mount his sisters' dragons. Dragons live longer than men, some for hundreds of years, so Balerion had other riders after Aegon died…but no rider ever flew two dragons."

Viserion hissed again. Smoke rose between his teeth and deep down in his throat they could see gold fire churning.

"They are…fearsome creatures."

"They are _dragons,_ Quentyn," she gave him a sad smile, "and so is Daenerys."

The young prince swallowed, "I…I have the blood of the dragon in me as well, my lady. I can trace my lineage back to the first Daenerys, the Targaryen princess who was sister to King Daeron the Good and wife to the Prince of Dorne."

Selene smiled at him, "I have it as well, though with my name being what it is, it's easy to forget."

Quentyn nodded, "Your father's grandmother was a Targaryen princess, was she not?"

"Rhaelle Targaryen. Aegon V's youngest daughter who married the heir to Storm's End. The maester's were glad for that, as it gave my father a blood claim to the Iron Throne. They used it to justify his rebellion."

A shadow passed over Quentyn's face.

Selene took his hand, "I'm truly sorry for the crimes against your family. For Elia and her children." _Quentyn needs to meet Aegon._

"It's not your fault, but…what the Lannisters did was unforgiveable. Frankly, my lady, I'm shocked to see you alive and free in this court."

"So am I, my prince. I could have easily been in Sunspear right now, amassing an army."

Quentyn frowned, "What are you talking about?"

_He does not know._ "While you were setting sail for Meereen, your uncle was trying to arrange a Martell husband for me."

His frowned deepened, "My father never told me… You've met my uncle?"

Selene looked away. _He doesn't know. In truth, neither do I._ Last she had heard, Oberyn had been fighting for his life after his duel with the Mountain. She had no idea if he was dead or alive, but she figured it was not her place to worry Quentyn when she did not know for sure.

"I have, yes, and who knows if your father even knew of Oberyn's plan? Perhaps your uncle was casting a wide net. He offered himself to me. You and your brother as well if I cared to choose." _Oberyn called you plain, sensible, and dutiful._

"Did you choose?"

Rhaegal roared.

Selene watched him claw at his chains and all at once realized what she came here to do.

"Wait here," she instructed, before stepping forward.

" _Selene!_ " Quentyn hissed, but he stayed.

She walked up to Viserion and Rhaegal as she had dozens of times when feeding them. This time, though, she had no food.

Rhaegal walked as forward as his chains would allow, while Viserion descended from the roof to land besides his brother.

When Selene got close enough, Rhaegal roared in her face.

Selene froze as her hair whipped around her eyes. Standing there in the middle of the dragon pit, with the terrible weight of grief dragging her down, with the loss of Jon so raw and fresh inside, she could not muster any great sense of fear.

Which was why she reached her hand toward Rhaegal's chains and heaved.

With a satisfying _clack,_ his throat chain fell to the floor.

Rhaegal shook his head in satisfaction, rumbling at Selene affectionately. She smiled as she stroked his snout. The emerald plates were warm beneath her palm.

Selene looked to Viserion, who had always been more hesitant with her. With an impatient grunt, he turned his neck to reveal his chains.

Selene walked over to the white dragon and removed his chains as well. Viserion lifted his head and spat golden flames at the ceiling.

Quentyn jumped back.

"He's happy," she assured Quentyn. Rhaegal nudged her shoulder, but he was big enough where that small act nearly knocked her off her feet. She turned to stroke Rhaegal. "Really happy," she added.

Selene wanted to bring them outside, into the fresh air and sunlight, but knew Daenerys would be furious with her if she did. It was bad enough she removed their chains. _I could not watch them suffer. There has been enough suffering today._

She walked toward Quentyn. "You ought to return to Dorne-"

Quentyn paled, "Behind you!"

Selene turned. Rhaegal was making his way toward her. She smiled as he stopped and gave her a friendly, soft growl.

"I can't let you out," Selene explained, sure that he could understand her, "but I will soon, I promise."

His soft growl grew sadder. It broke her heart. "Soon, I-" She was distracted by a soft scratching noise. Selene saw a large black rat scurrying along the far wall.

Rhaegar heard it, too, and cocked his head to the side.

Selene's heart began to pound. Dare she even try?

_What was that word again?_

" _Dracarys."_

A stream of orange and yellow flames poured out of Rhaegal's mouth toward the rat. It caught fire and screamed as it died. Rhaegal didn't bother eating a prize so small, instead turning back to gnaw on old ram bones. But Selene stared at the burning chunk of rat, a dangerous smile on her face. _Today, it's a rat. Tomorrow, a Frey. Or a Bolton._

Quentyn look terrified, "Did you just-"

"We should take our leave."

Aegon was waiting for them at the top. "Prince Quentyn," Aegon said in surprise.

Quentyn frowned at Aegon's silvery hair, "I don't believe we've had the pleasure, ser. You are…?"

Selene was about to handle the situation delicately, but Aegon straightened and proclaimed, "I am Aegon Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia Martell. Please, call me cousin."

The Martell's jaw dropped. He looked to Selene for confirmation.

She placed a hand on his arm. "Yes," she admitted, "he claims to-"

" _Claims?_ " Aegon repeated incredulously. "I do not claim anything. I _am._ And I can prove it." His eyes went toward the doors that led to the dragonpit. "All I need is the chance."

Quentyn shook his head, "But that's impossible."

"A Baratheon, Targaryen, and Martell in one place," came Tyrion's voice. Selene watched her uncle waddle toward them. "What a sight you three make." He looked at Selene with concern, "Niece."

"Uncle," she replied, her face blank.

"I was hoping to speak with you," Tyrion said. "We should leave these cousins alone. I'm sure they have much to catch up on."

Selene gave the two boys a nod before following her uncle. They wove in and out of courtyards for a while, neither of them speaking.

"You took Prince Quentyn to the dragon pit," Tyrion finally said.

"I did."

"Why?"

"I wanted to see Rhaegal, but I found Quentyn first. Why does it matter?"

"Because Aegon has been whinging for months," Tyrion explained. "Prince Quentyn has been at court less than a week, and now he's already met them."

"Less than a week?" Selene repeated. "How long was I asleep?"

"Four days," Tyrion gave her a tentative look. "How are you feeling?"

Selene was quiet for a while. They finally stopped at a stone balcony besides one of the great courtyards that overlooked the city. _Some things cannot be mended. They can only be carried._

"It was love, and I lived in it, and now it is grief, and I will carry it. As I carry everything else."

Tyrion looked concerned. His eyes fell to her dress, "Black suits you. As does the Meereenese sun."

Her eyes fell to her arms, "Mother would have chastised me for losing my fairness." She glanced at her dress, "And it's Baratheon black."

"Your house colors, yes I know," Tyrion smiled. "Have you thought much about Storm's End?"

"No, I haven't," she looked away, "The stormlands feel so far away."

Tyrion smiled, "Closer with each passing day, I hope." He looked out toward the far hills. "Being Lady Paramount of the Stormlands has its responsibilities."

"Out with it, Tyrion. I can't play games. Not today."

"As you will," Tyrion conceded. "I'm currently looking to the future, and I want you to be happy. Well," he corrected himself, "as happy as you could be, anyway."

"You propose marriage."

"I do."

"With who?"

Tyrion gave her a smile, "Aegon Targaryen."

Selene frowned, "Don't be ridiculous. He's meant for Daenerys."

"I've come to learn some very important information about the dragon queen." He looked sad, "She can't have children."

Selene looked away. She had lost her child, to be sure, but Selene had always taken heart in the thought that she could still be a mother one day. It seemed Daenerys had no such comfort. _The dragons are the only children she will ever have._

"I'm sorry for her," Selene said with sincerity.

"It's a sad truth," Tyrion admitted, "but one that cannot be ignored. She wants the throne, but she will have no one to succeed her. If Daenerys marries Aegon, she wastes an opportunity."

Selene raised a brow, "An opportunity?"

"Marrying Aegon ensures he has no children. With his hair, eyes, and name-"

"Two out of three," Selene reminded him.

"For now. But if Daenerys legitimizes him-"

"His claim will be stronger. The law states-"

"The same law you abided by?"

Selene held her tongue.

"Daenerys can change the laws of succession. If Aegon swears his allegiance to her, she will name him Prince of Dragonstone and her heir."

"Is that why you won't let him near the dragons?"

Tyrion nodded, "There's no reason to risk his life. If he dies, Daenerys loses her chance to pass down her family name."

"I still don't understand what this has to do with me."

"Everything. Daenerys needs a wife for Aegon."

Selene hands balled into fists. "A brood mare, you mean?"

"More than that," Tyrion said, trying to soften the blow. "You were born and raised for this. No one can deny your Targaryen blood or your Baratheon rights. You have experience leading armies and ruling kingdoms."

"I failed."

"Because of Renly's vanity, Stannis's stubbornness, and Robb's blunders."

Selene gave him a warning look. _Between Theon and Lord Karstark…_ a terrible voice in the back of her mind whispered, but she would not let anyone speak ill of Robb in her hearing, not even Tyrion.

Tyrion continued. "The daughter of Robert Baratheon would sway those against the Targaryens. Your union would end the blood feud between Targaryen, Martell, Baratheon, and Lannister. Don't you see niece?" Tyrion smiled, "You would be a princess again, perhaps queen one day."

Selene thought of her dreams. The ones where she woke beside her silver-haired husband and heard the voices of her children. _I want to be a mother one day. To have a family of my own._

Tyrion took her silence for unhappiness, "I thought you liked Aegon."

"I liked Young Griff. Aegon is a different man entirely."

"Well, I'm sure he liked Joanna Hill more than Selene Baratheon."

Selene couldn't hide her hurt.

"That's not what I meant," Tyrion said quickly. "Young Griff and Joanna were carefree children, with nothing more to worry about then their lessons. Aegon and Selene have the weight of the world on their shoulders. Perhaps you should speak with him about more than thrones and bloodlines."

She stayed silent.

Tyrion sighed, "I'm just trying to do what I can to make your happy."

Selene turned and knelt like she always did. "I know that, Uncle. Forgive me for my ungratefulness."

"There is nothing to forgive. I know you're mourning someone you loved."

She looked away, "It's strange. It's been so long since I've seen him. I'm not even sure we would like the people we've become, but I always felt I would see him again. No matter what challenge laid before me, if I could only make it through, I would be one step closer to seeing Jon." She looked down at her hands, "Now I don't know what to do."

Tyrion tucked a loose curl behind her ear, "You, my brave lioness, will do your duty, as you always have."

_He said those exact words to me all those years ago when Jon and I first kissed._ Tears swam in her vision. She wiped at her eyes roughly and stood.

"I have no duty. Not anymore."

"We all have our duty," Tyrion said.

The days crept by after that. Daenerys would hold court. Her council would advise her. Selene would read Nettle's book over and over again, trying to find some clue as to how to bond with Rhaegal. When she wasn't doing that, she was training with Grey Worm with spears or Aegon with swords, speaking with Quentyn about Dorne, or drinking with Daenerys at night.

The more Selene spoke with Daenerys, the more she watched her rule, the more she trusted her. Her advice about grief had truly helped Selene, and Daenerys asked Selene questions about her childhood, her family, and the men she had loved. Selene did the same, and found herself admiring Daenerys' determination, strength, and resilience.

"Tomorrow is the big day," Selene said after a sip of wine. "The Great Games."

"The Great Farce," the dragon queen replied. She had opened the fighting pits to bring peace to Meereen, but at a deadly cost.

"It was the price for peace," Selene reminded her.

"I know. And now I must pay it." Daenerys grimaced, "I have to watch men butcher each other for sport."

"And women," Selene quipped. "If you hadn't pulled me out of the pits, perhaps tomorrow would have been my day of glory."

"If you even made it that far."

"I would have!" Selene protested. Daenerys looked skeptical, but soon they were laughing.

"How is Rhaegal?" Daenerys asked.

Selene hesitated, "How long has it been since you've visited them?"

Daenerys stared into the contents of her goblet, "Not for weeks. I can't bear to see them chained up in the dark."

Selene kept her face masked. _Well, for a start, they are chained up no longer._

The dragon queen continued, unaware, "Yet I can't risk their freedom. But if you're having luck with them, perhaps they could be free again."

"Viserion barely responds to me. He eats what I give him and doesn't kill me, so perhaps I should rejoice in that, but Rhaegal is another matter entirely." Selene leaned in, "I said that High Valyrian word and he _spat flames."_

"He _what?_ "

Selene nodded, _"Dracarys._ He obeyed me."

Daenerys took her hand, "Blood of my blood."

She smiled, "It would appear so."

Daenerys couldn't stop the grin spreading on her face. "Now we're just missing one."

"Perhaps he's been here as long as I have."

"Aegon?"

Selene nodded, "What if he truly is Rhaegar's son?"

"What if the dragons burn him alive?" Daenerys countered. "Should he die, then I am back where I started. I _need_ a male Targaryen to pass down the family name."

They were quiet for a while.

"Do you ever think how different everything would have been?" Selene asked. "If our families never warred."

"All the time," Daenerys answered, leaning back. "I would have been Princess Daenerys, raised in the Red Keep with my older brothers."

"And I would have been Lady Selene, daughter to Lord Robert Baratheon and Lady Lyanna Stark."

"Your father would have sent you to court to be one of my ladies in waiting." Daenerys smiled, "We would have grown up together. We would have been as close as sisters."

Selene scoffed, "I probably would have been a dancer or a painter. No one would have put a sword in my hand."

"And I would have never been given my dragon eggs," Daenerys said softly. "Perhaps it would have been a happier life, but dreaming will not make it so."

"No, it won't," Selene agreed. "All we can do now is leave the world better than we found it."

Daenerys smiled at her warmly and raised her glass, "Fire and fury."

Selene blinked. _She combined our words._ A slow smiled spread over her face.

"Fire and fury."

###

The sky was a brilliant blue, without a wisp of cloud in sight. _The bricks will be baking in the sun,_ thought Selene. _Down on the sands, the fighters will feel the heat through the soles of their sandals._

A maid slipped Selene's silk robe from her shoulders and helped her into the bathing pool. The light of the rising sun shimmered over the water. Selene's apartments were a significant improvement to the room she was confined to when she first arrived in Meereen. She had her own maids, and a bathing pool that overlooked the city.

"My lady," the maid said politely, "which _tokar_ will you want today?"

Selene grimaced. If wound too loose, a _tokar_ might unravel and fall off. If wound too tight, it might tangle and trip her. Even if worn properly, Selene had to hold it in place with her left hand and walk in small steps to prevent falling. The garment was as elegant as it was impractical, but Selene said, "The sheer white linen with the golden tassels." She wanted to wear mourning black, but the sheer linen was cool, and it would be blistering down in the pit.

One maid brushed her hair, which had grown since she cut it in Pentos. It was well past her chest and in a few months time it would be at her waist again. _Should I cut it short again?_ Selene had cut it because it reminded her of her high birth, but now… _Perhaps I should prepare myself for my return to Westeros._ She had missed her long dark curls.

Missandei was at the doorwar, "My lady. The queen bids you join her when you are dressed."

At the base of the Great Pyramid, Ser Barristan awaited beside an ornate open palanquin, surrounded by Unsullied soldiers.

Daenerys was waiting in the palanquin, "Ah, Selene. Good. What took so long?"

Selene struggled with her _tokar,_ "This garment is a nightmare."

Daenerys laughed, "It took me a while to grow used to it."

Hizdahr zo Loraq joined them then. "Have you ever seen an auspicious day, my love?" he commented as he joined Daenerys on the palanquin, where two tall thrones stood side by side.

"Auspicious for you, perhaps," Selene told the king. "Less so for those who must die before the sun goes down."

"All men must die," Hizdahr said coolly, "but not all can die in glory, with the cheers of the city ringing in their ears."

Daenerys and Selene exchanged a look, before the latter went to ride behind, in a blue palanquin with Aegon.

Aegon looked dashing in his finery. He wore Targaryen red and black silks, and his silvery hair was pushed aside. His indigo eyes shone in the light.

"You look as handsome as ever, Aegon. Though, I fear black was the wrong choice on a day such as this one."

"Thank you, Selene. And it goes without saying, but you look beautiful."

Selene smiled, "You could stand to say it more often."

Aegon smiled for a moment, before looking down at his attire, "As for my choice of colors, it seems I must remind everyone of my house, lest they forget."

Selene rolled her eyes as she settled in the palanquin. Once their party was ready, Daenerys gave the order for them to be on their way.

The plaza that fronted the pyramid was paved with bricks on many colors, and the heat rose from them in shimmering waves. People swarmed everywhere. Some rode litters or sedan chairs, and many were afoot. Nine of every ten were moving westward, down the broad brick thoroughfare to Daznak's Pit. When they caught sight of the palanquins emerging from the pyramid, a cheer went up from those nearest and spread across the plaza,

A great drum led the royal procession to clear their way through the streets. Between each beat, a herald in a shirt of polished copper disks cried for the crowd. Unsullied soldiers marched in front of Hizadar and Daenerys' palanquin, while her Dothraki were ahorse around her. Set Barristan Selmy rode at Daenerys' side, his armor flashing in the sun. Directly behind was Aegon and Selene, while a little farther back was Quentyn Martell, the Dornish prince, with his two companions.

Selene could hear those around arguing who was going to win the day's final match. One favored the gigantic Goghor, who looked more bull than man, even to the bronze ring in his nose. Another insisted that Belaquo Bonebreaker's flail would prove the giant's undoing. But Selene knew what it meant to be in the caves beside the pit. To be sharpening her sword and wondering if this was her last day.

She turned to her friend for company, "I hope we don't stay in Meereen forever."

"Perhaps you could leave on dragonback once you and Rhaegal-"

Selene lost her patience, " _Gods,_ Aegon, _enough._ I cannot take this moaning any longer. Have you ever stopped to wonder _why_ you're not allowed near the dragons?"

"I haven't a clue!" Aegon said heatedly. "If someone would just _tell_ me-"

"Fine!" Selene looked around, leaned in, and lowered her voice, "You can't die. Daenerys needs you."

"For what? She's already married."

"She can't have children. Her name won't die with her if you marry and pass it on."

"Marry who?"

"Me," Selene said simply.

Hope flashed across Aegon's face, "We would wed?"

Selene nodded, "Daenerys is considering legitimizing you and making you her heir. That will be for nothing if the dragons devour you."

"But they won't," he said earnestly. "They would treat me as they do you, perhaps better."

"And if you're wrong?"

Aegon looked her in the eyes, "I have to try. If I'm right, I become a dragonrider. If I'm wrong… I'd rather be dead."

"Aegon…you would be a true prince, the chance to rule the Seven Kingdoms, the chance for a family-"

"The chance to marry you." He finished with a small smile.

The corner of Selene's lip rose, "Don't throw it all away for pride."

Aegon leaned back in his chair, lost in thought.

At the gates of Daznak's pit two towering bronze warriors stood locked in mortal combat. One wielded a sword, the other an axe; the sculptor had depicted them in the act of killing one another, their blades and bodies forming an archway overhead.

_The mortal art,_ thought Selene.

She had seen a fighting pit once, but nothing could have prepared her for this. Aegon and Selene passed beneath the bronze statues to emerge at the top of a great brick bowl ringed by descending tiers of benches, each a different color.

Hizdahr zo Loraq led them down, through black, purple, blue, green, white, yellow and orange to the red, where the scarlet bricks took the color of the sands below. Around them peddlers were selling dog sausages, roast onions, and unborn puppies on a stick, which made Selene queasy. They had no need of such, because Hizdahr had stocked their box with flagons of chilled wine and sweetwater, with figs, dates, melons, and pomegranates, with pecans and peppers.

Across the pit the men and women of Meereen were taking their seats. The higher the tier, the more common the blood, with sellswords and freedmen at the top of the pit. Hizdahr and Daenerys sat on the two thrones in the center of the pavilion, while Selene sat between Tyrion and Aegon directly to the queen's right.

Hizdahr stood, " _Great Masters!_ My queen has come this day to show her love for you, her people. By her grace and with her leave, I give you now your mortal art. _Meereen!_ Let Queen Daenerys hear your love!"

Ten thousand throats roared out their thanks, then twenty thousand, then all. They did not call her name. " _Mother!"_ they cried instead; in the old dead tongue of Ghis, the word was _Mhysa!_ They stamped their feet and slapped their bellies and shouted, " _Mhysa, Mhysa, Mhysa,_ " until the whole pit seemed to tremble.

Aegon looked around the pit in wonder, "They love her."

_No,_ Selene almost said. _They love their mortal art._ She glanced at Daenerys, who was staring at the sands as if trying to imagine she were elsewhere.

In endless succession, the men came to die. Pale Quartheen, black Summer Islanders, copper-skinned Dothraki, Tyroshi with blue beards, Lamb Men, Braavosi – from the ends of the world they came to die in this pit.

It was custom to sentence criminals to the pits; that custom Daenerys agreed to continue, though only for certain crimes, like murder and rape. Beasts were allowed as well, and Selene watched as an elephant made short work of a pack of wolves. Next a bull was set against a bear in a bloody fight that left both animals torn and dying. _Perhaps that is how we should solve our problems in Westeros,_ Selene thought dryly, _Have our sigils face off against each other._ Despite the seriousness of the day, Selene found it hard to keep a straight face imagining a Tully fish fighting a Tyrell rose.

After the beast fights came a mock battle, pitting six men on foot against six horsemen, the former armed with shields and longswords, the latter with Dothraki _arahks._ The mock knights were clad in mail, whilst the mock Dothraki wore no armor. At first the riders seemed to have the advantage, riding down two of their foes and slashing the ear from a third, but then the surviving knights began to attack the horses, and one by one the riders were unmounted and slain, to the nearby Dothraki's great disgust. "That was no true _khalasar,_ " said Daenerys' handmaid Jhiqui.

A roar went up as a fearsome woman strode onto the sands, naked save for breeches and sandals. A tall, dark woman of some thirty years, she moved with the feral grace of a panther.

Selene recognized her immediately, "That's Barsena!"

Tyrion and Aegon both turned at her outburst, frowning, "Who?" Aegon asked.

"We were Yezzan's serving girls," Selene explained, "She told me she was the greatest warrior woman in Essos. She was kind to me."

Barsena bowed to Daenerys and Hizdahr on the dias and frowned when she saw Selene. _The last time she saw me I was in chains, now I sit beside a king and queen in a bejeweled tokar._ Selene felt a flush of shame.

"Barsena is much loved," Hizdahr said as a cheer swelled from the crowd. "The bravest woman I have ever seen. Today she fights a boar."

_Aye,_ Selene smiled, _b_ _ecause you could not find a woman to face her, no matter how plump the purse._

The boar was a huge beast, with tusks as long as a man's forearm and small eyes that swam with rage. Selene wondered whether the boar that killed her father had looked as fierce. She glanced at Ser Barristan, who stood behind Daenerys, and they exchanged a knowing look. _He was there,_ Selene nearly forgot. _Ser Barristan was there when my father faced the boar._ She turned back toward the beast. _A terrible creature and a terrible death._ Selene blinked tears away.

The boar charged, Barsena spun, her blade flashed silver in the sun. "She needs a spear," Selene said as Barsena vaulted over the beast's second charge. "That is no way to fight a boar."

Barsena's blade was running red, but the boar soon stopped. _It is smarter than a bull,_ Selene realized. _It will not charge again._ Barsena came to the same realization. Shouting, she edged closer to the boar, tossing her knife from hand to hand. When the beast backed away, she cursed and slashed at his snout, trying to provoke him…and succeeding. This time her leap came an instant too late, and a tusk ripped her left leg open from knee to crotch.

A moan went up from thirty thousand throats. Clutching at her torn leg, Barsena dropped her knife and tried to hobble off, but before she had gone two feet the boar was on her once again. Selene turned her face away as a scream rang out across the sand.

"I can tell you when it's okay to look," Aegon said softly.

Selene opened her eyes. Aegon was looking at her kindly. "No," she told him. "I need to look."

The boar buried his snout in Barsena's belly and began rooting out her entrails. The smell was more than Selene could stand. The heat, the flies, the shouts from the crowd… _I cannot breathe._

It seemed Daenerys felt much the same. The dragon queen stood, taking off her veil, getting rid of her _tokkar,_ revealing the light white dress beneath it.

" _Khaleesi?_ " her Dothraki maid Irri asked. "What are you doing?"

"Taking my leave," she said as a dozen men with boar spears came trotting onto the sand to drive the boar away from the corpse and back to his pen. The pitmaster was with them, a long barbed whip in his hand. As he snapped it at the boar, Daenerys turned, "Ser Barristan, will you see me safely back to my garden?"

Hizdahr looked confused, "There is more to come. A folly, six old women, and three more matches."

"This was a mistake," Daenerys said.

"Magnificence, the people of Meereen have come to celebrate our union. You heard them cheering you. Do not cast away their love."

"It was bloodshed they were cheering, not me. I'm leaving this slaughterhouse." She looked toward Selene, Tyrion, and Aegon. "Anyone is welcome to come with me."

"You don't have to ask me twice," Selene said as she rose, nearly tripping over her _tokar._ "Damn thing," she mumbled, tearing the bottom half of the skirt so she could move freely.

Hizdahr was still attempting to convince his wife, "Sweet lady, no. Stay only a while longer. For the folly, and one last match. Close your eyes, no one will see. They will be watching the-"

A shadow rippled across his face.

The tumult and the shouting died. Ten thousand voices stilled. Every eye turned skyward. A warm wind brushed Selene's cheeks, and above the beating of her heart she heard the sound of wings. Two spearman dashed for shelter. The pitmaster froze where he stood. The boar went snuffling back to Barsena.

Above them all the dragon turned, dark against the sun. His scales were black, his eyes and horns and spinal plates blood red. Selene had seen his brothers in the pit, but this dragon seemed larger in flight. His wings stretched twenty feet from tip to tip, black as jet. He flapped them once as he swept back above the sands, and the sound was like a clap of thunder. The boar raised his head, snorting…and flames engulfed him, black fire shot with red. Selene felt the wash of heat thirty feet away. The beast's dying scream sounded almost human. Drogon landed on the carcass and sank his claws into the smoking flesh. As he began to feed, he made no distinction between Barsena and the boar.

"Oh, gods," moaned Tyrion in disgust, "he's _eating_ her."

Selene could see everyone in the pit tripping over themselves in their haste to get away. Others followed. Some ran, shoving at one another. More stayed in their seats.

One man took it on himself to be the hero.

He was one of the spearmen sent out to drive the boar back to his pen. Perhaps he was drunk, or mad. Perhaps he had loved Barsena from afar. Perhaps he was just some common man who wanted bards to sing of him. He darted forward, his boar spear in his hands. Red sand kicked up beneath his heels, and shouts rang out from the seats. Drogon raised his head, blood dripping from his teeth. The hero leapt onto his back and drove the iron spearpoint down at the base of the dragon's long scaled neck.

Drogon and Daenerys screamed as one.

The hero leaned into his spear, using his weight to twist the point in deeper. Drogon arched upward with a hiss of pain. His tail lashed sideways. Selene watched his head crane around at the end of that long serpentine neck, saw his black wings unfold. The dragonslayer lost his footing and went tumbling to the sand. He was trying to struggle back to his feet when the dragon's teeth closed hard around his forearm. "No," was all the man had time to shout. Drogon wrenched his arm from his shoulder and tossed it aside as a dog might toss a stick.

"Kill it!" Hizdahr zo Loraq shouted to the other spearman. " _Kill the beast!"_

Ser Barristan grabbed Daenerys, "Look away, Your Grace."

"Let me _go!_ " Daenerys twisted from his grasp and cleared the parapet, losing a sandal as she landed in the pit.

Selene ran to the edge of the dais, "Daenerys!"

But Daenerys ran toward the dragon. Others were running away, throwing down their weapons as they fled. The hero was jerking on the sand, the bright blood pouring from the ragged stump of his shoulder. His spear remained in Drogon's back, wobbling as the dragon beat his wings. Smoke rose from the wound. As the other spears closed in, the dragon spat fire, bathing two men in black flame. His tail lashed sideways and caught the pitmaster creeping up behind him, breaking him in two. Another attacked stabbed at his eyes until the dragon caught him in his jaw and tore his belly out. The Meereenese were screaming, cursing, howling.

"Drogon!" Daenerys screamed. " _Drogon!"_

His head turned. Smoke rose between his teeth. His blood was smoking too, where it dripped upon the ground. He beat his wings again, sending up a choking storm of scarlet sand. Daenerys stumbled into the hot red cloud, and fell on her back.

"No," Selene breathed, certain she was watching the death of the last Targaryen.

Drogon roared. The sound filled the pit. The dragon's long scaled neck stretched toward Daenerys. When his mouth opened, Selene forced herself not to look away. Drogon roared full in her face. Off to the right, Ser Barrstan was shouting, " _Me!_ Try me. Over here. _Me!"_

"Barristan!" Selene yelled. _Doesn't he understand? Drogon can't hurt Daenerys._ Yet there was a fearful lump in Selene's throat.

Daenerys looked so small beside Drogon, yet she scrabbled in the sand, pushing against the pitmaster's corpse, and her fingers found the handle of his whip.

Drogon roared again, the sound so loud Selene nearly covered her ears. His teeth snapped at Daenerys.

She hit him. " _No,"_ she screamed, swinging the lash with all her strength. The dragon jerked his head back, " _No!"_ she screamed again. " _NO!_ " The barbs raked along his snout. Drogon rose, his wings covering her in shadow. Daenerys swung the lash at his scaled belly, back and forth. With a _hisssss,_ he spat black fire down at her. She darted underneath the flames, swinging the whip and shouting, " _No, no, no, Get DOWN!"_ His answering roar was full of fear and fury, full of pain. His wings beat once, twice…

…and folded. The dragon gave one last _hiss_ and stretched out flat upon his belly. Black blood was flowing from the wound where the spear had pierced him, smoking where it dripped onto the scorched sands.

Daenerys Targaryen vaulted onto the dragon's back, seized the spear, and ripped it out. The point was half-melted, the iron red-hot and glowing. She flung it aside. Drogon twisted under her, his muscles rippling as he gathered his strength. The air was thick with sand. The black wings cracked like thunder and the dragon launched into the air, and suddenly the black dragon was growing smaller in the sky.

Selene Baratheon stood on the dais as chaos reigned around her, her eyes watching Drogon getting smaller and smaller. People were being trampled as they rushed to leave, but Selene was as still as stone, Aegon and Tyrion by her side.

_The first dragonrider in centuries,_ Selene thought with a smile, _a_ _nd I shall be the second._


	52. Dragonrider

Selene was sure she would find Daenerys at the Great Pyramid.

But she wasn't there. Or anywhere else in Meereen, according to the Unsullied that patrolled the city.

"Perhaps she's just riding Drogon nearby," Tyrion said hopefully.

But Selene shook her head, "She wouldn't abandon her people. We need to find her."

The councilors were all in the throne room, deciding what to do. All except Hizdahr.

"Where is the king?" Aegon asked.

"No one has seen him since the Pit," reported Grey Worm.

Selene noticed a strange look pass over Ser Barrsitan's face.

"Is something wrong, ser?"

"I do not like Hizadahr's absence. He's been acting strange all day. He was pushing Daenerys to eat pomegranates and was disappointed when she did not partake."

Grey Worm's head snapped up. "Pomegranates? Not the pomegranates from the royal box?"

"The very same."

Grey Worm frowned, "My men ate leftovers from royal box. One is gravely sick, and all he ate was pomegranates."

Selene's stomach sank.

"Why would the king want the queen dead?" asked Mossador, who spoke for the freedmen.

"Because he is a king in name alone," Selene answered. "Daenerys is the true power in Meereen." She thought of Hizdahr's reaction to Drogon in the pit. _Kill the beast!_

"I know where he is!"

Selene bolted.

When they reached the entrance to the staircase that led down to the dragon pit, two Unsullied soldiers were slumped against the wall, throats slit. Selene heard roars from deep beneath the earth.

_No, please, no._

It was more like falling than running, Selene only just able to put one foot before the other in the darkness. She heard them all close behind her. Ser Barristan, Grey Worm, Daario _,_ Tyrion, Aegon, Unsullied soldiers. She saw spears of flame down below. _They must be defending themselves._

When Selene was on the final flight, she jumped, sword drawn, and cut down the nearest man she could see. Rhaegal was pressed against the far wall, roaring at his attackers, a spear sticking out from his side. Viserion was clutching at the ceiling, roaring at the men below him.

"Rhaegal!"

The dragon's head turned at her voice. Hizdahr turned as well, from where he safely stood behind his men.

" _Dracarys!"_

Rhaegal turned his head back to his attackers and bathed them in fire. Screams filled the pit as the burning men flailed in agony. The lucky ones ran toward the steps, only to be met by Unsullied solders.

Selene ignored the looks Tyrion and Aegon gave her.

"Arrest Hizdahr zo Loraq," she commanded.

"You can't arrest me!" Hizdahr laughed. "I am the king of Meereen!"

"Not anymore."

Two of Grey Worm's men leapt forward, twisting his arms behind his back.

Hizhahr struggled, "Unhand me!"

Selene's eyes landed on Rhaegal as swords spun around her. Ser Barristan was tackling three men at once, Aegon was facing a tall foe, and Daario was expertly spinning his blades. Selene walked through all the fighting, straight toward Rhaegal.

He roared when she got too close.

Selene sheathed her sword. "It's me, Rhaegal. You're safe now."

The dragon bared his teeth. Selene saw that his wound was smoking.

"I have to take that spear out."

Rhaegal grumbled, before giving her his side.

Selene took small steps until she reached the spear. She wrapped her hands around the it and tugged.

Rhaegal screamed. "I'm sorry," Selene said as she gave on last heave. The spear slid out, and dark blood flowed from the wound. Selene tore fabric from her tunic and staunched the bleeding. With her free hand, she ran her fingers over his scales. Rhaegal turned his neck to face her, grumbling with affection.

Selene smiled, "There. Feeling better?"

Once he saw that it was safe, Viserion came down from the ceiling to stand beside his brother. He seemed unhurt. Selene sighed in relief.

Tyrion cleared his throat.

Selene turned and saw them all staring at her as she stood between the two dragons. Aegon was gawking at them in wonder, Ser Barristan looked proud, and Tyrion looked concerned while Daario and Grey Worm bore twin looks of confusion.

Selene gave Rhaegal a final scratch before returning to the council.

"We should return to the throne room," said Selene. "We have to-"

"You do not command me," argued Daario. "I don't see a crown on your head."

"Then perhaps you should look closer."

Daario opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when Rhaegal took a step forward, a low warning growl deep in his throat.

Daario swallowed, taking a step back.

_Oh, I could get used to this._

"Apologies," Selene said innocently. "Did you have something to say?"

When Daario gave no answer, Selene said, "Good. Now, I _suggest_ we go and discuss how we intend to move forward."

Grey Worm frowned, "Who rules Meereen?"

"No one has to rule," Selene told him, giving him a half smile. "We, as a council, will make decisions together."

Back in the throne room, the members of the council spread out across the steps. Some were pacing, some sitting, all glancing occasionally toward the empty throne.

Before they could begin, however, the Unsullied announced that a knight was here to pledge his sword to Daenerys.

Ser Barristan sighed, "Enter."

It was Ser Jorah Mormont.

"Jorah the Andal," Grey Worm said surely. "You should not be here."

"No, but he is," said Tyrion.

"Our queen ordered him exiled from city."

"I could not leave," Ser Jorah said stubbornly. "I was there in the pit. I saw her fly off. She's out in the wilderness alone and we have to save her."

"He's right," said Tyrion. "The dragon headed north, that's where we'll have to go."

" _We?_ " repeated Jorah. "You've been here for how many days now? I fought for her for years. Since she was little more than a child."

"You betrayed her," Ser Barristan reminded him.

"Careful, now."

"She exiled you, twice I believe," said Tyrion.

"The second time thanks to you."

Selene frowned, unaware of what happened in the time she was under lock and key.

"Don't blame me for your crimes, Mormont!"

"He's right," Aegon stepped forward. "The queen exiled Ser Jorah, but time may have changed things. Perhaps she feels differently about him now. Perhaps not. The only way we'll know is if we ask her ourselves."

"Fine, fine," Tyrion ceded. "I suppose he can join us."

"Forgive me, my lord," Ser Barristan said, "but why would you come on this mission?"

"Pardon me?"

"Have you ever tracked animals in the wilderness?" asked Aegon.

"Not precisely, but I have other skills that would be very use-"

"Can you fight?" asked Daario.

"I have fought. I don't claim to be a great warrior."

"Are you good on a horse?" asked Ser Jorah.

"A little."

"Mainly he talks," explained Selene. "And drinks."

"I've survived so far!"

"Which we all respect," said Aegon, "but you would not help on this expedition. You _would_ help us here in Meereen, though. You're the only one here with experience on governing a city."

"He's a foreign dwarf who doesn't speak the language," said Jorah. "Why would the Meereenese listen to him?"

"They wouldn't," said Selene, picking up Aegon's plan, "but they would listen to Grey Worm."

"I'll come with you," Grey Worm argued. "I'll find our queen."

"No, the people believe in you," Selene told him. "They know and trust you."

"It's true," Aegon said. "The Unsullied keep peace in Meereen. If you leave, half this city will consume the other half."

"And Ser Barristan," Selene turned to face him.

"I'm the Lord Commander of the Queensguard," he said, shocked. "Of course I'm going."

"You've been advising Daenerys for years," Selene said. "The people of Meereen know you speak for her."

"Then it's decided," said Aegon. "Myself, Daario, Jorah and Selene will ride at once-"

"Not exactly," Selene stepped closer to Aegon. "To find a dragon, we need a dragon."

Tyrion understood her meaning first. "That's suicide."

"You saw him in the pit, Uncle. He listened to me."

"You're going to ride Rhaegal?" Aegon's asked softly.

"I'm going to try."

"It's too risky," said Ser Barristan.

"We are a council," Selene said. "Let's put it to a vote."

"Let her try," Daario laughed. "Either she'll fly or she'll die...either way it will be entertaining to watch."

Selene did not account for Daario's support. "I can always rely on you, Daario. Mossador?"

The freedman looked apprehensive.

"It's the best chance we have to find her," Selene told him.

After a moment, he nodded.

"Ser Barristan?"

The white knight brought his hand under his chin, "It's dangerous..."

" _Thank you,_ " Tyrion laughed. "This is-"

"I wasn't done, my lord," Selmy said. "It's dangerous…but I've seen how Rhaegal responds to you. I've seen him refuse to kill you, sense your rage, shoot flames at your command, and allow you to remove a spear from his side. If you think it's time, then I trust you."

Selene gave him a grateful smile, before turning to Tyrion.

"No," he said. "Selene, please, don't do this."

"Do you have any faith in me at all?"

"You know I do."

"Then trust me."

Tyrion looked away, gave a frustrated sigh, "Fine! But if you die, I swear to the gods, I will kill you."

Selene laughed, "I would expect nothing less."

Aegon's jaw was clenched. "I should be by your side."

"I'm not so certain. Your presence will only scare them. I think I should go alone. I have Targaryen blood in me, you know that."

Aegon's eyes blazed, "I'm coming with you. Please, Selene. I have to."

Selene stared hard at the boy who claimed to be Rhaegar's son, "As you will, but you must swear to stay far behind."

He nodded.

Grey Worm offered his arm, "Good fortune, friend."

Selene smiled as she took his hand for a shake of camaraderie, "Thank you, friend."

Tyrion snorted, "Do try not to become a pile of ash. I...I enjoy your company." Despite his words, Selene saw the worry in his eyes.

"I will do my upmost, uncle."

###

Selene and Aegon's footsteps echoed hollowly off the walls in the darkness. Aegon held the torch, but Selene led the way, following the path she had walked a hundred times.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I insisted on coming with you."

It took all Selene had not to snort. "It's hardly a mystery. You want to see the dragons. To see how I ride Rhaegal, so you can learn to do the same."

"Do you think so poorly of me?"

Selene smiled, "Am I wrong?"

Aegon kept a straight face for half a heartbeat. "Well, you're not _entirely_ wrong." They both laughed, and for a moment, Selene felt like they were Jo and Young Griff once more. "You're not entirely right, either."

"Go on, then. Why are you here?"

"Because I need to see you safe."

Selene laughed, "How do you intend to save me from dragonfire?"

"I'll jump in the way if I must."

Selene stopped, "Don't say such things-"

"Its true." He stopped her before the doors. "Selene, its true. I know I haven't been myself since we've come to Meereen, and I'm sorry for that." He looked away, "Things aren't going how I expected."

"No one could have predicted this. We're lucky to have survived this long."

Aegon gave her a rueful smile, "You've done more than survive since we've come here. You've _thrived._ You have Daenerys' ear and the obedience of her dragons…you have Grey Worm's respect-"

"-and Daario's hatred."

With his free hand, he took hers. "You can always judge someone by the quality of their enemies. Daario is cruel, heartless, and without honor. The fact that you are constantly at odds reaffirms what I already know. You are quite the opposite."

Selene realized he was blushing. "Why does this feel like a confession?"

"Because you may die in there," Aegon answered. "Because if something goes wrong, I may die in there, too. And I won't have either of us die without you knowing that-" he struggled to find the right words. He sighed, "Marrying you would be the greatest honor of my life, as well as my greatest joy."

Selene's mouth felt dry, "Aegon-"

"It's alright," he managed. "You don't have to say anything. Tyrion told me about the man you're mourning."

Selene nodded, her eyes growing wet. "I loved him in my girlhood. Even in exile, I always hoped I would see him again."

Aegon stared at her hand in his. "And I'm sorry for your loss, but I...I hope one day, when the war is done…" He smiled at her, and Selene was again reminded of just how handsome he was, "Try not to die in there, alright?"

Selene laughed, but it sounded hollow. _I need to focus on the task at hand,_ she thought desperately. _I can't have this swirling around in my head as I try to subdue Rhaegal._

"Thank you for telling me," Selene said awkwardly. She turned back to the doors, shaking her head in an attempt to clear it.

Before when they saved the dragons from execution, the doors had been flung open, and Selene had paid them no mind. Now, the pair of heavy iron doors rose before them, rust-eaten and foreboding, closed with a length of chain whose link was as thick around as a man's arm. The size and thickness of the doors was enough to make Selene nervous. Even worse, both doors were plainly dinted by something inside trying to get out. The thick iron was cracked and splitting in three places and the upper corner of the left-hand door looked partly melted.

_I have removed their chains,_ Selene reminded herself. _They are free in there._

Four men stood guard at the door. Selene nodded at them, and the door was pulled apart. Their rusted hinges let out a pair of screams, and a thick wash of heat flowed over them, heavy with the odors of ash, brimstone, and burnt meat.

It was black beyond the doors, a sullen darkness that seemed alive and threatening, hungry. Selene could sense the dragons in the darkness, coiled and waiting. _I have done this a hundred times,_ Selene thought. _This is no different._

_Use their names, command them, speak to them calmly but sternly. Master Rhaegal, as Daenerys mastered Drogon in the pit._ She had been alone, clad in wisps of silk, but fearless. _I must not be afraid. She did it, so can I._ The main thing was to show no fear. _Animals can smell fear, and dragons..._ What did she know of dragons? _What does anyone know of dragons? They have been gone from the world for centuries._

The pit was just ahead. Selene took the torch from Aegon and edged forward slowly, moving the torch from side to side. Walls and floor and ceiling drank the light. _Scorched,_ she realized. _Bricks burned black, crumbling into ash._ The air grew warmer with every step she took. She began to sweat.

Two eyes rose up before her.

Bronze, they were, brighter than polished shields, burning with their own heat behind a veil of smoke rising from the dragon's nostrils. The light of her torch washed over scales of dark green. Then the dragon opened its mouth, and light and heat washed over them. Behind a fence of sharp black teeth she glimpsed the furnace glow, the shimmer of a sleeping fire a hundred times brighter than her torch. The dragon's head was larger than a horse's, and the neck stretched on and on, uncoiling like some great green serpent as the head rose, until those two glowing bronze eyes were staring her down.

_He must be more alert now that he's been attacked by Hizdahr's men._

"Rhaegal," Selene said, "it's me." She looked up to find Viserion clinging to the roof.

The dragon sniffed her, but his eyes were on Aegon.

Selene spoke without turning, "Aegon, move back. _Now."_

The scuttle of footsteps told her that he complied.

"It's just me, Rhaegal. Your friend, Selene. The one you could have killed but didn't. I never properly thanked you for that." She moved forward slowly. Rhaegal sniffed her again, eyes dilating, before shaking his neck amiably.

Selene let out a sigh of relief. "There, you see? You know me." _Why am I so nervous? I've been with him everyday. Because,_ a sure voice in the back of her mind answered, _this is the first time you've tried to ride him. If Rhaegal doesn't want you, you're as good as dead._

Selene was sweating, trying to push those dark thoughts aside. "It's just me," she said, more to herself than to the dragon, edging around his side, looking for purchase. _Which scales should I-_

The metal doors burst open.

Startled, Rhaegal drew back, hissing. From above, Viserion beat his wings at the intrusion.

It was the Dornishman. Ser Archibald, Ser Gerris, and Prince Quentyn Martell.

"Quentyn?" Aegon was lost. "You shouldn't be here."

Rhaegal roared as the Dornish men approached. He beat his wings, standing back on his hind legs. Selene backed off, an arm over her face to keep the ash and dirt from her eyes.

She was furious. " _Stay back_! You're going to get me killed!" Then she saw the coiled whip in Quentyn's hand.

_No._

Selene leapt forward, grabbing the prince by the wrist. "Don't do this."

"I have no choice." Quentyn tried wrestling his arm back, but she held on.

"You will _die."_

"I can trace my lineage-"

"Fuck your lineage," said Selene desperately. _He's mad. At lease I have fed them, let them grow accustomed to my scent, freed them from their chains...this is just plain madness._ "The dragons won't care about your blood, except maybe how it tastes. You cannot tame a dragon with a history lesson. They're monsters, not maesters."

"I have to prove myself worthy of her," Quentyn said, finally shaking her off. "For my father. For Dorne."

Selene drew her sword. "I can't let you do this."

Ser Gerris was upon her. "You don't have a choice, my lady," he said, charging her.

"Selene!" Aegon called, but soon she heard the song of swords, and knew he was fighting Ser Archibald, while Gerris thought to try his luck with her.

"Put down your weapon," Selene ordered.

Ser Gerris gave her a smile, as if this was all a grand game he loved to play, "I wish I could, princess, but my prince commands me."

"You're sending him to his grave!" Selene gave him a kick in the chest and bought herself enough time to glance at Quentyn.

Viserion launched himself from the ceiling, pale leather wings unfolding, spreading wide. His flame lit the pit, pale gold shot through with red and orange, and the stale air exploded in a cloud of hot ash and sulfur as white wings beat and beat.

The dragon came down between the wall and the Dornishman with a roar that would have sent a hundred lions running. Viserion's head moved side to side as he inspected his intruders. His sniffed last and longest toward Selene. _He knows my scent and does not understand why others are here._

"Viserion," Quentyn called, fumbling his whip.

The dragon knew his name. His head turned, and his gaze lingered on the Dornish prince for three long heartbeats. Pale fires burned behind the shining black daggers of teeth.

Selene was so engrossed that Ser Gerris was able to twist her arm behind her back.

"No, let me _go!_ "

"Apologies, princess."

"I'm no princess," Selene reminded him before sinking an elbow into his gut. As he gripped his stomach, she whirled and bashed his head with the pommel of her sword. Ser Gerris went down.

Selene watched as Viserion's horned head moved back, away from Quentyn's whip. "Quentyn, stop!"

" _DOWN_ ," the prince commanded, raking the whip across the white dragon's face.

Selene rushed forward, but was jerked back by the arm.

It was Aegon. "Selene, no."

"I have to help him!" She struggled against him, but Aegon held her firm.

"There's no sense in you dying as well."

" _VISERION!"_ Prince Quentyn Martell snapped the whip in the air with a _crack_ that echoed off the blackened walls.

The pale head rose. The great gold eyes narrowed. Wisps of smoke spiraled upward from the dragon's nostrils.

"Down," the prince commanded. "Down, down, _down_." He brought the whip around and laid a lash across the dragon's face. Viserion _hissed._

Selene struggled so hard she fell to her knees.

Aegon held on to her tight. "There's nothing you can do."

_Liar,_ Selene thought, tears falling. _I can try._

And then a hot wind fell over them all and Selene heard the sound of leathren wings and the air was full of ash and cinders and a monstrous roar went echoing off the scorched and blackened bricks.

"Behind you!" Selene screamed, but it was too late.

Quentyn turned and threw his arm across his face to shield his eyes from Rhaegal's furnace wind. Selene watch in horror as flames engulfed him. Screams of anguish filled the air as Aegon grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her into his arms.

"Don't look," he said, holding the back of her head against his chest as she sobbed. "Don't look. It's alright, you're alright."

###

The Dornish prince was two days dying.

He took his last shuddering breath in the bleak black dawn, as cold rain hissed from a dark sky to turn brick streets of the old city into rivers. The rain had drowned the worst of the fires, but wisps of smoke still rose form the smoldering ruin that had been the pyramid of Hazkar, and the great black pyramid of Yherizan where Viserion had made his lair hulked in the gloom like a fat woman bedecked with glowing orange jewels. At least Viserion could be seen. No one knew where Rhaegal was. _Perhaps a world away._

She stood beside the parapets of the highest step of the Great Pyramid, searching the sky as she did every morning, knowing that the dawn must come and hoping that Daenerys would come with it. It was then she heard the prince's death rattle coming from the queen's apartments.

Selene Baratheon went inside. Rainwater ran down the back of her tunic, and her boots left wet tracks on the floor and carpets. At her insistence, Quentyn Martell had been laid out in the queen's own bed. He had been a knight, and a prince of Dorne besides. It seemed only kind to let him die in the bed he crossed half a world to reach. The bedding was ruined, all reeking of blood and death, but Selene knew Daenerys would forgive her.

Missandei sat at the bedside. She had been with the prince night and day, tending to such needs as he could express, giving him water and milk of the poppy when he was strong enough to drink, listening to the few tortured words he gasped out from time to time, reading to him when he fell quiet, sleeping in the chair beside him.

The tiny Naathi scribe looked up as she approached, "My lady. The prince is beyond pain now. His Dornish gods have taken him home. See? He smiles."

_How can you tell? He has no lips._ It would have been kinder if the dragons had devoured him. Then at least it would have been quick. This… _Fire is a hideous way to die. Small wonder the hells are made of flame._

"What is to be done with him?"

_Why do people always turn to me for answers?_ Selene pinched her nose. "I'll see that he's returned to Dorne." _But how? As ashes?_ That would require more fire, and Selene could not stomach that. "You should get some sleep now, Missandei."

"If this one may be so bold, you should do the same. You do not sleep the whole night through."

_Not for many years, child. Not since the Twins._ "Go on, rest."

After the girl was gone, Selene peeled back the cover for one last look at Quentyn Martell's face, or what remained of it. So much of the prince's flesh had melted away that she could see his skull beneath, his eyes were pools of puss. _He should have stayed in Dorne. He should have stayed a frog. Not all men are meant to dance with dragons._ He had been her friend for only a short time, but he was a prince from her country, a kind young man, and she mourned him.

As she covered the boy once more, she found herself wondering whether there would be anyone to cover Daenerys, or whether her own corpse would lie unmourned amongst the tall grasses of the Dothraki sea, staring blindly at the sky until her flesh fell from her bones.

_Daenerys smiled, "We would have been as close as sisters."_

"No," Selene said aloud. "Daenerys is not dead. She was riding that dragon. I saw it with my own eyes," but every day that passed was getting harder to believe. _I did not see her fall, but hundreds swear they did._ Ser Jorah and Daario had set out as soon as they heard that Selene's dragon plan had gone awry. She had felt duty bound to wait for Quentyn to pass, and Aegon had stayed behind with her until it happened.

Aegon was pacing outside the door to the chambers when Selene walked out.

"Prince Quentyn is dead."

He bowed his head, "I'm glad his suffering is over."

"As am I." _He was a fool, but he did not deserve that death._ "Will you please let the council know?"

Aegon nodded. "Where are you going?"

"It's time the Dornishmen knew of their prince." _And understood their part in his death._

Selene's mind wandered as she went down to the cells. _Blind, bloody fool._ She nearly had a leg up on Rhaegal, was about to mount him, when the Dornishmen ruined everything. Now the dragons had escaped, Viserion in his pyramid, and Rhaegal lost.

Grief and guilt had been known to drive good men into madness, and Archibald Yronwood and Gerris Drinkwater had both played roles in their friend's demise. But when she reached their cell, she walked up the bars and told them that their prince's agony was over.

Ser Archibald, the big bald one, had nothing to say. He sat on the edge of his cot, staring down at his hands.

Ser Gerris punched a wall, "I told him it was folly. I begged him to go home. Your bitch of a queen had no use for him, any man could see that. He crossed the world to offer her his love and fealty, and she laughed in his face."

"She never laughed," said Selene. "If you knew her, you would know that."

"She spurned him. He offered her his heart, and she threw it back at him and went off to fuck her sellsword."

"You had best guard that tongue, ser." Selene did not like this Gerris Drinkwater anymore now than she did before, nor would she allow him to vilify Daenerys. "Prince Quentyn's death was his own doing, and yours."

" _Ours?_ How are we at fault? Quentyn was our friend, yes. A bit of a fool, you might say, but all dreamers are fools. But first and last he was our prince. We owed him our obedience."

Selene could not dispute the truth of that. "He came too late."

"He offered her his heart," Ser Gerris said again.

"She needed swords, not hearts."

"He would have given her the spears of Dorne as well."

"Would that he had. He came too late, though, and this folly…breaking into the dragon pit, loosing two dragons on the city…that was madness and worse than madness. That was treason."

"What he did he did for love of Queen Daenerys," Gerris Drinkwater insisted. "To prove himself worthy of her hand."

Selene had heard enough. "What Prince Quentyn did he did for Dorne. Do you take me for some lovestruck maiden? I have spent my life around kings and queens and princes. Sunspear means to take up arms against the Iron Throne. No, do not trouble to deny it. Doran Martell is not a man to call his spears without hope of victory. Duty brought Prince Quentyn here. Duty, honor…never love. Quentyn was here for dragons, not Daenerys."

"You didn't know him," argued Drink. "He-"

"He's dead, Gerris," said Ser Archibald. "Talking won't bring him back. What happens to us?"

Selene shrugged, "Ser Barristan will decide. I just thought you should know." She looked them up and down. "I'm sorry for your loss."

###

Meereen fell further and further away behind the hills, until Selene felt that she and Aegon were the only two people on earth.

They were going north, hoping to meet with Jorah and Daario. Drogon had flown north, and so they hoped to find Daenerys, or some sign of her whereabouts. Tyrion wanted her to stay in Meereen, but Selene couldn't bear to sit and wait in the Great Pyramid, wringing her hands and having sleepless nights.

"We'll find her," Aegon said confidently, though Selene wasn't as sure. North led to the Dothraki Sea, an endless expanse of steppes, plains, and grasslands. Without Rhaegal, it would be impossible to find Daenerys.

_Rhaegal…_

No one had seen the emerald dragon since he escaped the pit. For all Selene knew, he could be halfway around the world. Rhaegal could find a mountain range somewhere to call home, make himself a cave, and never be seen by another living soul again. It broke Selene's heart.

_The gods took Eleni, who I loved with all my heart. I thought Rhaegal was recompense, but now he is lost to me as well._

Selene tried to push thoughts of Rhaegal from her mind with her book, which she read by the dim light of the campfire Aegon was stoking. It was one of her favorite parts, the day Nettles first mounted Sheepstealer.

She was faintly aware of Aegon staring at her as she read.

"Your lips move when you read."

Selene blushed, "And?"

Aegon's eyes fell to the tome, "What are you reading?"

She sighed, "The greatest book I ever read. It's about Nettles, one of-"

"- the dragonseeds." Aegon finished. "The boldest of them, if that title is to be believed."

Selene blinked. She had nearly forgotten that Aegon spent most of his life in Haldon's lessons.

"Yes, she rode Sheepstealer, the untameable dragon. And she wasn't Targaryen."

"She could have been."

Selene shook her head, "She was dark of skin and hair and eye. All of the dragonseeds had some form of Targaryen looks. Either the silver-gold hair, the eyes, the fair skin...all except her."

Aegon sat down beside her, peering into the book. Selene realized how close he was, but his eyes were focused on the text.

"Could I read it for a moment?"

"Of course."

As he read, Selene watched him. Unlike her, his lips didn't move, but his brows were furrowed. Selene watched as his silvery-gold hair drank the firelight, his indigo eyes darting between words. She had the strong urge to lean against him, to put her cheek on his shoulder and-

"That's strange."

Selene cleared her throat, "Sorry? What's strange?"

"This bit, about her blood. Here, read it."

Selene frowned, taking the book back, "I have read it. Over and over again," but she turned her face to the pages.

_Sheepstealer roared, and I reeled back, stumbling on the cavern floor and falling on my back._

_I cursed at the searing pain in my hand and looked. My palm had been gashed on a stone._

_I should have been terrified. A dragon was lording over me, her black teeth bared, and yet in my insolence and youth I was more annoyed than frightened._

_"Look what you did!" I chastised, holding my palm forward so Sheepstealer could see. "Bad dragon!"_

_Sheepstealer sniffed my hand and grew very still, almost as if she were made of stone. I didn't want to break the spell, so I kept my hand straight, even as blood was dripping to the floor. After several moments, Sheepstealer opened her mouth and waited._

_I was frozen, unsure what to do next. It seemed this was sort of test, but I had no clue how to pass. Madness took over, though at the time I would have called it instinct, but I moved my hand forward, into her mouth, and watched as drops of my blood fell on her tongue._

_Sheepstealer acted strange after that, shooting flames, beating her wings, roaring, but that was the day I mounted her, so my blood couldn't have hurt._

Selene shot to her feet.

"It's in the _blood!"_

Aegon rose, "What?"

"Don't you see?" Selene grabbed his arms, gripped by strong realization. "We don't know how the Valyrians controlled their dragons, but it was said the dragonlords used blood magic to control their mounts."

"Right," Aegon picked up on her musings. "Which is why they married brother to sister. To keep the bloodlines pure. So when Nettles gave Sheepstealer a taste of her blood-"

"They were bound together."

Aegon's eyes widened, "Is that all it takes?"

Selene thought for a moment, and then shook her head, "No, I don't think so. Nettles had been feeding Sheepstealer for weeks before that encounter. There had to be an existing bond, but-"

"It's the blood that binds."

Selene grinned, "Yes, I think it is."

Laughing with joy at their discovery, they embraced. After a moment, Selene pulled away.

"We should get some sleep. We'll undoubtedly have another long day tomorrow."

Aegon nodded, not quite looking at her.

The next morning, Selene awoke to find herself face to face with Aegon. They slept side by side, but sometime in the night they must have gotten closer, for when Selene opened her eyes, Aegon's sleeping face was before her.

In his sleep, Aegon looked peaceful. _He really is a handsome man,_ Selene thought. _Would it be so terrible to marry him?_ She could imagine a worse fate.

He must have felt her staring, because he began to stir. Selene quickly shut her eyes. She felt his gaze on her, but kept still.

A moment passed, and then, "Why are you pretending to be asleep?"

Selene felt herself flush, but stretched and yawned, "I don't know what you're talking about." But when she saw his look of amusement, she blushed harder, "Smug bastard."

The sun was particularly cruel that day, beating down mercilessly upon them. Selene had a hood made of white linen pulled above her head to protect her face from burns, but she was roasting.

They were riding in a desolate valley, rugged red cliffs rising on either side of them, when Selene gently pulled her horse's reigns and stopped.

Aegon frowned, "Everything alright?"

Selene was staring just around the bend. Dirt and dust floated in the warm breeze. Something wasn't right.

"Wait here."

Aegon's frown grew deeper, "For what? Selene? Selene!"

She ignored him, galloping ahead and around the bend. Selene was glad when she didn't hear him pursue. When she came around the bend, she saw a slit midway up the mountainside. _A cave._ She dismounted, tying her horse to a skinny, leafless tree.

Something in the cave was calling her. Selene walked toward it when she heard a warning roar. She froze, waiting.

Black claws gripped the mouth of the cave, and Rhaegal peeked his head out.

Relief exploded in Selene's chest, "Rhaegal!"

He launched himself from the cave, beating his wings as he slowed to the ground before her. The dragon looked better than he ever had. His side was healed and he seemed to relish being in the fresh air and sunlight.

_I thought I lost you._

Selene did what she had when they first met. She bowed.

She peeked with one eye and saw Rhaegal shake his neck in recognition, his spinal plates shuddering.

Selene smiled, taking a few steps forward and petting his snout as she had a hundred times.

_Well,_ she thought, _it's now or never._ She took her winter dagger from it's sheath and drew it across her palm. Pain lanced up her arm, but she only winced and held her hand up to Rhaegal's snout.

He sniffed her palm, and for a moment Selene was scared he would go back to his cave, or roar, or do anything other than what he did: unhinge his jaw.

_Please don't bite my arm off, please don't bite my arm off, please don't bite my arm off,_ she prayed over and over again as she held her hand aloft in Rhaegal's mouth, watching her blood drip onto his tongue.

Rhaegal shifted, and Selene jerked her hand back as the dragon moved a couple of paces backwards. He roared at her, beating his wings to stand on his hind legs. Selene stared at Rhaegal as his jaw widened, as flames flickered in the back of his throat. She covered her face with her arm as flames descended on her.

_I'm going to die like Quentyn,_ she thought as a furnace raged around her, _I'm going to-_

But as quick as the flames came, they stopped. Selene tentatively opened an eye, and looked down.

Rhaegal had created a black circle of ash around her.

Selene looked full into the face of the dragon.

Bronze eyes met blue as Rhaegal growled with content and gave her his side.

Selene took a deep breath, and mounted.

She settled between two bronze spinal plates. Rhaegal twisted under her, his muscles rippling as he gathered his strength. The air was thick with dirt and sand. Selene could not see, she could not breathe, she could not think. The green wings cracked like thunder, and suddenly the earth fell away beneath her.

Dizzy, Selene closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she glimpsed the mountains beneath her through a haze of tears and dust. Her hands were clutched at his scales, her fingers scrabbling for purchase. Selene could feel the heat of him between her thighs. Her heart felt as if it were about to burst. _Yes,_ she thought, _yes, now, now, do it, do it, take me, take me, FLY!_

Selene gripped Rhaegal for dear life as he turned, and cried out when she nearly lost her grip. He straightened, though, and Selene clutched even harder.

_It's like riding a horse,_ she reminded herself frantically, _if a horse could fly and move in any direction._

Selene leaned forward.

Rhaegal did as well, plummeting toward the earth. Her heart leapt into her mouth. _Alright, alright, now...UP._

Selene pulled back.

Rhaegal straightened, flying just above the earth.

Selene was grinning from ear to ear. She looked up at the clouds, _I would like to see the heavens._ She gripped Rhaegal tight and pulled back. The dragon's neck rose, and then they were both rising, his wings beating furiously as they soared. _Higher, higher, higher!_ They broke through the clouds. Once he was no longer climbing, Rhaegal's wings beat slowly, softly, as they soared leisurely amongst the clouds. Selene looked over his side, and saw the dragon's shadow on the clouds below.

Selene looked forward, her heart pounding in her ears. She took a deep breath and shouted, " _DRACARYS_!"

Rhaegal opened his jaws, and together they danced and swirled through cloud and flame.


End file.
